Gold Fever
by Leah F Davies
Summary: The top teenage detectives meet up for the first time in an explosive international adventure of gold lust, betrayal, and murder.
1. Back Cover

Disclaimer: This author does not own the characters of Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys.

The top teenage detectives meet up for the first time in an explosive international adventure of gold lust, betrayal, and murder.

NANCY DREW accepts what sounds like a straightforward case in New York: find out who has been threatening a college student. Upon her arrival, Nancy is baffled to learn that Raya Alvarez, a promising archeology scholar at Winchester University, has evidently disappeared into the jungle depths of the Yucatan. As Nancy tries to track down the clues to her whereabouts, she finds herself crossing paths with a mysterious duo who seemingly knows her moves before she makes them.

Meanwhile…

FRANK AND JOE HARDY are asked by the rich widow, Tessa Russo, to represent her as a potential investor in Gemsun Inc., a mining exploration company. Gemsun has reportedly found gold in Mexico, and only the very elite have been invited to buy shares in the company before it goes public. Everything is going according to plan when an unexpected inquiry into an archeological dig, led by an unknown detective, threatens to ruin it all.

As their investigations converge, the three sleuths find themselves heading for Mexico to search for answers. But when things start to go disastrously wrong in the tropics, it becomes clear that they'll have to work together in order to survive the deadly case of GOLD FEVER.


	2. Splash Page

"Who are you?" Joe blurted out before he could stop himself. "What are you doing here?"

She gave a mirthless laugh but didn't relax her body. "I thought that would have been perfectly obvious. I broke in. I got caught."

"Why?"

She blinked. "Because you two came back _a lot_ sooner than I expected."

Joe quirked a brow at her. "Humor in a thief. Now there's a rare quality. I like it. But you didn't tell me your name."

She moved her gaze from his to eye Frank warily, and Joe was surprised to see her shoulders ease. "I'm not a thief," she told him.

The silence stretched as the two of them continued to stare at one another. Joe shrugged. "Well, Frank, if you've got her effectively subdued, I'm going to call Campus Security."

The girl turned toward him and nodded. "Yes, do that. We need to have a chat." Her gaze sharpened. "Specifically about _your_ breaking-and-entering skills."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Joe demanded.

"I saw you two yesterday—trying to get into the Frasier Building." Something clicked in Joe's mind. Had she been following them all along? Before he could ask, she added, "Not to mention that you ransacked the place."

"Ransacked it?" Joe repeated. "Look, umm…I still don't know your name, and I personally think it's kind of rude to exchange accusations without going through the pleasantries first. I'll start. I'm Joe Hardy, and that model of suspended animation—" he indicated his sibling with a nod—"is my brother, Frank. And you are?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Joe could see the almost imperceptible frown between her brows that made him think she was going to lie. "I'm—"

To Joe's surprise, Frank finally found his voice, and interrupted. "Nancy Drew."


	3. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"Detective work isn't really _this_ boring," Nancy Drew reminded herself reproachfully, leaning back in her chair as she tucked a strand of red-gold hair behind her ear and rubbed her tired eyes. She sighed aloud, and rotated her shoulders to alleviate the cramps that had settled while she had sat hunched over her desk. She sighed again as her gaze fell on the stacks of papers and folders she had yet to sift through. Deciding to give herself a bit of a break, she stood stiffly and moved around her father's study to stand in front of the window in order to feel the mid-afternoon sun on her face.

Her father, Carson Drew, was a well-respected criminal defense lawyer based in River Heights, her hometown. His solo law firm mainly handled relatively low profile cases such as petty theft and insurance fraud. However, once in a while, he was asked to represent a defendant in a more sensational case. Currently, he was working on a high stakes lawsuit brought against a famous developer from Chicago, which was only an hour from River Heights. The developer, Branson Miller, had been accused of embezzlement and blatant disregard for housing standards when one of his condo projects under construction had suffered damage in a serious fire. Thankfully no one had been injured, but the investors had balked when they had learned the fire had been deliberately set—and that the building had not met the proper fire safety standards. Miller had professed his innocence, blaming an external contractor, and had hired Carson to represent him.

Which led to Nancy's current occupation. She had often helped out on her father's cases before—she had, in fact, gained a fairly respectable reputation as an amateur detective. However, finding herself with no satisfactory mystery just as summer was beginning, Nancy had volunteered to help her father in his current legal matter. Carson had joyfully accepted her aid, and had asked her to methodically pore over all the documents pertaining to the building's construction in order to better understand the flow of finances while he worked in Chicago to acquaint himself with the physical evidence. The plan was for Nancy to join him early the following week so they could work on an effective defense strategy.

In the meantime, though, Nancy was having a hard time focusing her attention. She knew a lot of detective work was done in a chair, in front of a computer, or on long stakeouts, but that didn't mean there was no action at all. The part Nancy loved about detecting was talking to people, unraveling a riddle on the go, and—yes, she admitted to herself—being in a little danger. Most people would cringe at having stared down the business end of a gun a few times, or being tied up, or being threatened randomly, but Nancy found that, deep down inside, she craved it. There was something altogether thrilling about being able to help people and solve their problems, even if it meant she landed herself into trouble every now and then.

Shaking her head at the direction of her thoughts, she turned around and glared at the papers on the desk. She had yet to find something out of the ordinary in the proposals she'd read so far. The estimates for the construction had matched the actual cost, but she knew she still had hundreds of pages to compare.

Deciding that she needed a break, she left the study and wandered into the bright kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Reaching for the kettle, she was amused to find a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the counter with a note. Nancy instantly recognized the handwriting. It was from Hannah Gruen, the Drews' housekeeper and Nancy's valued friend. She had come to live with the little family shortly after the death of Nancy's mother, and had been irreplaceable since. Both Nancy and her father loved Hannah dearly, as it was no secret that she had played a significant role in Nancy's upbringing with Carson having such a busy practice. Now, although Nancy was on the cusp of adulthood, neither she nor Carson could part with Hannah, and, as Hannah often reminded them, neither could she part with them. Hannah had never tried to replace Nancy's mother, but she was a true motherly figure to her, and often came across as a homely and fun-loving aunt.

Nancy snagged a cookie, smiling as she read the note. Hannah hadn't wanted to interrupt Nancy's studious efforts, so she instead left a message that she was heading out to the local library to meet up with her weekly book club. The cookies were left in a conspicuous place so that Nancy would remember to refuel her brain when necessary. Dinner, Hannah mentioned, was _not_ to be the cookies, but leftover hamburgers, which she and Carson had barbequed a few days ago. Hannah was planning to be gone for some hours, and Nancy was not expecting her until late in the evening.

Nancy took a bite into a second cookie, and plugged in the kettle. As she did so, her eye fell on the street that the window overlooked. She had already peered at the street from the window in the study, and she hadn't noticed a car parked along the curb of the front yard. She definitely didn't recognize the vehicle—a nondescript sedan with four doors. The shrubs of the neighboring property hid the front of the car, so Nancy was unsure about the make. As she watched, the driver's door opened and a man got out. He shut the door quickly, but his attention was suddenly riveted to a car slowly making its way down the road. With a screech, this new car came to halt and the passenger leapt out, apparently shouting something to the man closer to Nancy's house. At this commotion, the man yanked open his door and sped away as soon as his car started. The passenger in the other car, also a man, dashed back to his car, and it, too, took off after the first car.

Nancy frowned, wondering. She had automatically noted the license plates, but quickly discarded them from her memory. The incident had been a little suspicious, but Nancy shook her head. She wasn't so desperate for some action that she immediately suspected a conspiracy in what was likely a random act! The kettle whistled just then, and Nancy finished making her tea, pushing the episode out of her mind.

It wasn't until a couple of hours later that Nancy thought she had a breakthrough while reading through the section on the electrical wiring of the building. While Miller Developments was large enough to have internal construction departments, she had found that the company relied on a few external contractors for certain designs. Nancy hadn't entirely understood the engineering details, but the electrical division had recently used a small company called Wired Up. Wired Up had proclaimed to be a leader in environmentalism, and so long-term energy efficiency was the reason for the steep cost of their product. The company had apparently acquired a new insulating material for the wires, thus reducing voltage loss to resistance. Wired Up's proposal looked sound, but Nancy couldn't believe the outrageous price they had charged.

Turning to the computer, she opened her e-mail inbox to dash off a note to her father, and noticed that he had sent her a message earlier that morning. _Nancy,_ it read_, it looks as though I have another job for you. Thomas Miller, Branson's brother, mentioned that their sister might be in trouble. Thomas is in River Heights and would like to talk to you today._

Nancy drew her brows together, recalling the incident she had witnessed from the kitchen window. Had that been Thomas Miller? Why hadn't he come to the door, and who was the person who had been following him? She shook her head, knowing she had many more questions than answers. She glanced at the household phone, acutely aware she hadn't heard it ring all day. Even so, she checked for messages, but there were none. Her cell phone was similarly noncontributory. On a whim, Nancy walked into the foyer and opened the front door. She glanced around the porch, but nothing seemed out of place. She checked the mailbox, but it, too, was empty. Thomas Miller, if that was indeed who had been in front of her house earlier, had not left any messages. Going back inside, she phoned her father, only to get his answering service.

She debated silently with herself but, in the end, decided to write an e-mail to her father. She outlined her suspicious regarding Wired Up, and then asked her father to forward her cell number to Miller so they could arrange a meeting time and place. She refrained from bringing up the scene on the street, as she didn't know its significance.

That done, she inwardly acknowledged felt too edgy to return to the mundane paperwork before her. A jog would definitely help settle her and, not to mention, she might be able to spot the mysterious cars if they were still in the neighborhood. Nancy threw on an old pair of sweat pants and a bright T-shirt, filled a small water bottle, and fitted an MP3 player along with her phone into her pocket before heading out. She made a show of doing a few stretches as she took in the quiet lane. Once again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

A little less than an hour later, she found herself back at her house. She had done a thorough search of the area, sticking to the roads instead of following her favorite jogging paths, but she hadn't seen either of the two cars, or at least she didn't think so. She cursed under her breath as she hopped up the porch steps. If only she had written down those license plates! Unfortunately, the numbers were blurred by her perusal of the Miller financial files, and she couldn't trust her memory.

At the thought of the papers, Nancy felt her shoulders sag. She still couldn't bring herself to continue her investigation, and gave into the urge to extend her time away. She took a long shower. She ate dinner. She watched TV. Finally, feeling guilty, she dragged herself back into the study. A quick glance at the computer revealed that her father had not yet written back. Satisfied she had overcome her distractions, Nancy took the next file and diligently started reading. After ten pages, she found herself resting her forehead in the crook of an elbow, promising that she was only going to take a short nap.

Sometime later, Nancy became aware of the jingling of keys at the front of the house. Feeling disoriented, she blinked her eyes, listening carefully. Aside from the desk lamp, the room and the house beyond was dark. With a start, Nancy realized the sun had already set, and that she been asleep longer than she had anticipated.

"Nancy! I'm home," came Hannah's slightly annoyed voice from the foyer. "Nan, girl, you forgot to turn on the porch light."

"I'm sorry, Hannah," Nancy called back, trying to shake the sleep from her voice. She lifted her head gingerly from her arms, wincing as she became aware of a stiffness in her neck. "I've been in here all evening."

Hannah knew her too well. "You poor dear, were you asleep? I'm sorry, I—" Her words were cut off abruptly, and then came a startled cry. "Hey, who are you? What are you doing here?" The next cry had the girl detective immediately on her feet and sprinting for the door. "Nancy, help me!"


	4. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Detective work isn't boring," Joe Hardy complained to his brother. "But _this_ is boring."

"We need this stuff _to_ _do_ detective work. Besides, no one twisted your arm to come, Joe," Frank Hardy said patiently, his brown eyes taking in his younger sibling's edgy posture as he leaned against the glass counter of the sixth computer store they had visited that day.

"Well, I didn't think you would take so long," Joe replied. "I mean, dual processors and IDE cables and SATA drives are all the same, right?" He shook his head ruefully. "After a while, it's all just an alphabet soup to me."

Frank laughed as they waited for the salesperson to return with the hardware he had requested. "You know the computer system in the van needs a bit of an upgrade."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Joe grumbled. "You've been reminding me for over a week now. By the way, are you going to get a new video card? Because there's this new first-person shooter game that I—"

"I am not rebuilding the computer for your entertainment and gaming purposes," Frank told him firmly.

"But there have been studies, Frank! Studies that show such games help with hand-eye coordination—"

"I'm sure," Frank returned in a dry voice. He was solemn for a moment, and then he broke out in a grin. "Actually, there's a game that I've been eyeing myself—"

"I knew it!" Joe said triumphantly.

"But necessary upgrades are needed first," Frank said. "So you'll just have to bear with me." He surreptitiously glanced at the store's wall clock and noticed with a start that it was well past one o'clock. The brothers had driven to New York City from the suburb of Bayport, which was where they lived, early that morning in Frank's pursuit of new equipment for their beloved van. Being amateur detectives, they had often relied on technology to help crack a case wide open, and Frank had, in the past few months, outfitted the brothers' van into something of a portable computer lab. His current mission was to upgrade the hardware so that he could run a powerful photo-enhancing program, making identifications of such things like license plates easier. However, Frank was shopping around for the best equipment within the brothers' price range, and so it was taking longer than he had expected.

"Joe," Frank said now, "you must be starving."

"Gee, Frank, it doesn't take a detective to figure that out. It's _way_ past my lunchtime!"

Frank only shook his head, smiling inwardly at Joe's legendary hunger. "Why don't you run out and get something?" he suggested. "I'll meet you back at the van in, say, half-an-hour?"

Joe's blue eyes lit up with the mention of obtaining food. "That sounds like a plan to me. Do you want anything specific?"

Frank waved his hand dismissively as he turned toward the approaching salesperson. "Surprise me."

**o...o...o...O...o...o...o**

Joe walked out of the store into a typically sunny afternoon in New York. That meant, of course, that the sun was not hanging brightly in the sky, but was rather hidden behind a haze of the resident smog that lingered throughout the month of July. Despite the downside of air pollution, Joe never tired of the city—well, visiting it. He supposed it would be another thing altogether to actually live in New York City. Frank would be doing that come the fall. Joe felt a twinge of sadness as he thought of his brother starting on this new chapter in his life while he himself finished his last year of high school at Bayport High.

Joe crossed the street with a group of pedestrians, walking in the direction of Morningside Park. Beyond that, he knew, was Columbia University—and it was the place Frank had finally chosen to further his education, despite the multitude of offers he had received. In fact, it was no coincidence the brothers found themselves near the grounds on that particular day. Frank had been given a limited campus parking pass in his acceptance package, and so they had jumped at the opportunity to park for free. While Joe had remained completely neutral when Frank had asked for advice when deciding on an institution, he was secretly grateful Frank had not accepted a college further west. The fact that he would only be a little under two hours from home was comforting.

His stomach gave an insistent growl, and Joe turned his thoughts from his brother's future to his own immediate future. Where was he going to eat? There was a collection of fast food joints closer to the university, Joe knew, but he was craving something else. A real New York hoagie, sold by a roadside vendor, already had his name on it. His friend, Chet Morton, endearingly called such food "street meat"; he, too, had a penchant for the filling sandwiches. There would be such vendors near the park, and Joe continued in the same direction he was heading.

Coming up on Morningside Ave, Joe chose the stand with the longest line-up. Though notoriously impatient, Joe suffered this wait in good spirits. If this vendor had such a lengthy line, it must be good. A few long minutes later, Joe was convinced he made the right decision. The two hoagies he bought smelled out of this world. Although tempted to eat one immediately, Joe managed to curb his desire and hold off until he met up with Frank.

As he still had more than a few minutes before he had to join his brother, Joe decided to swing through the park. He was about to cross Morningside Ave, but slowed down when he noticed the 'Don't Walk' sign flashing insistently. A few cars tried to speed through the intersection, and were rewarded with the sounds of irate horns, mostly coming from the yellow taxis that were about to turn left on their green. Several cars had their windows down, and choice swear words were bandied about, as were a few expressive hand gestures. Joe shook his head slightly, but noticed that everyone else seemed nonplussed at the display.

Joe's eyes fell on the young woman standing next to him, and he gave her an appreciative once over. She caught his look and smiled saucily at him. She was probably a little older than himself, with dark curly hair and hazel eyes. She was cute, in that girl-next-door type of way. As they waited for the light, Joe noticed she snuck several glances in his direction before glancing away. _It's the Hardy charm,_ he thought. _They just can't help themselves._

"Hi," he said casually.

"Hi," she returned. She looked at him once more, almost shyly.

"If you're working up the courage to ask for my number, you needn't worry," he told her. "I'll give it to you without too much persuasion."

"I'll bet," she said with a laugh. "Actually, I had my eye on your hoagie. Where did you buy it?"

"Ah, a woman after my own heart. Cute, and with good culinary taste. A perfect combo." He grinned at her blush, and pointed back the way he had come. "That stall over there."

"Oh, thanks. I've haven't had lunch yet, and I'm already late meeting someone. I'll have to do like you—grab and go."

"Meeting someone…like your boyfriend?" Joe asked.

"My, you are very forward! No, my great-aunt. I promised to meet her in the park."

"Whew!" Joe made a great show of wiping his brow. "That's a relief. So I can give you my number in good conscience."

"You're not going to give up, are you? Fine, hand it over." Joe found his receipt from the hoagie seller and wrote his cell phone number down carefully. As he did so, the girl watched him with amusement. "I'm impressed—you carry a pen."

"It comes in handy," he admitted, "especially in times like these. I'm Joe Hardy," he said, handing her the paper.

Joe noted that she gave a little start at his name, but she covered it up so quickly with a smile that he wondered if he had imagined it. "Shelley Pelligrini."

"Nice to meet you, Shelley," he said as the light changed. "Feel free to give me a call anytime."

"I may just take you up on that offer," she teased. "Bye, Joe Hardy." She gave him a small wave and headed in the opposite direction.

Joe watched her shapely figure for a moment, and then strolled into Morningside Park. He chose a trail at random, and started to follow it as it zigzagged its way past a series of stately trees and well-kept flowerbeds. When he came upon a basketball court, he decided to turn back. As he did, he collided with a lanky guy with greasy hair who was on his cell phone."Are you sure?" the guy demanded into his phone. "She walks by here everyday? With that dog?" He glared at Joe. "Outta my way."

Joe gave him an indignant stare. "Look, bub, you walked into me."

"You wanna go?" the guy asked. "Right here, right now."

Joe sized him up, and knew in an instant the guy was no match for him. However, he wasn't so hotheaded to get into a fistfight over something so small, and the guy definitely wasn't worth squashing his hoagies. Fortunately he was spared such a fate by the person on the other end of the phone. "Oh, just some punk kid," the guy said, snarling at Joe. "I'm gonna punch out his lights. I—but I—It'll just take a minute! OK, fine, I'm going!" He threw Joe a poisonous look and took off.

Joe shrugged inwardly and continued on his way. He approached Morningside Ave once again, marveling how the park was really an oasis in the city. As the peaceful sounds melted away into a dull roar of the surrounding traffic, Joe was suddenly aware of a commotion at a nearby bench. A man, wearing the hood of a sweatshirt over his head, appeared to be arguing with an older woman, but Joe was too far away to hear the conversation. The guy looked liked trouble, though. It was well over eighty degrees in the sun—there was no reason for him to be so covered up. Joe squinted at the man, his curiosity piqued, and started to move toward the pair. As he did, the man reached out toward the woman without warning and picked up something from her lap. Then, without a pause, he started running full tilt toward Joe.

Joe had every intention of stopping the man, and he held his position, his quadriceps tensing so that the muscles would be ready to propel Joe in whatever direction the guy took. Behind the speeding man, still at the bench, the woman jumped up and screamed something at the top of her lungs. Joe supposed that she was yelling for someone to stop the guy because he had just stolen her purse; he was so focused on the runner that it took a moment before her cry finally registered:

"Stop that man! He's got my _baby!_"


	5. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Hannah apparently hadn't needed Nancy's help at all. She had the situation well under control. When Nancy made it to the foyer a few seconds later, she found her housekeeper glaring at a short young man who was standing half in and half out of the doorway. The two of them didn't seem to notice her. The man had his arms up to protect his head, and Nancy realized that Hannah had a heavy book in her hand and that she had it raised threateningly.

"Don't hit me again," said the man, his voice a little tremulous. When Hannah lowered the book, the man lowered his hands, and Nancy could see a red mark starting to appear over his left eye.

"You gave me quite a start, young man," Hannah reprimanded. "Why did you sneak up on me?"

"I didn't think I was sneaking up on you," he explained. "I tried clearing my throat and shuffling my feet, but you didn't hear me. You were too busy muttering into your purse."

"I couldn't find my keys in the dark," Hannah said. "Anyway, who are you and what are you doing here so late at night?"

At this, Nancy spoke up. "It's OK, Hannah. I think this is Thomas Miller, and he needs to speak with me." Thomas looked beyond Hannah to see who was talking and caught sight of her. "Please come in, Mr. Miller. I'm Nancy Drew, and this is my friend, Hannah Gruen."

"Thomas, please," he corrected, stepping forward. "And you're right—I do need to talk to you, Nancy, about an important matter."

Hannah put her hands on her hips in a motion that signified her suspicion had abated only slightly. "I didn't see a car in the driveway or parked nearby, Thomas Miller," she pointed out. "Were you lying in wait on the porch?"

"I was," he admitted. "I tried the doorbell, but no one answered the door. I didn't see any lights on, so I assumed no one was home. So I decided to wait a little while, and that's when you"—he indicated Hannah—"drove up. I thought maybe you were Nancy, but you didn't react at all when I tried to get your attention. And then, without warning, you just whacked me with that massive book."

"Sorry," Hannah murmured.

"If you were home, Nancy, why didn't you answer the door?" Thomas asked.

Nancy colored. "I, uh, I guess I didn't hear it."

Hannah gave her a knowing look. "She was in the study. It's almost soundproof." Hannah turned to Thomas. "I hope I didn't hit you too hard. Do you need to see a doctor?"

Thomas looked like he wanted to grin, but his expression came closer to a grimace. "Nah. I'm a real hard head—that's what my brother says, anyway. Besides, I supposed I deserved it. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Let me make it up to you. How about a refreshing glass of lemonade?"

"You better take her up on her offer," Nancy said. "It's homemade."

"Well, then, yes please."

"Why don't you go into the living room?" Nancy suggested, gesturing toward the room just off the foyer. She reached out and turned on the lights for the room, and Thomas nodded, heading in the direction she had indicated.

Nancy walked over to Hannah, who gave her a quick smile of reassurance. "I'm all right," Hannah mouthed before proceeding for the kitchen. Nancy watched her go for a moment, and then turned her attention to the house entrance. She quickly peeked out of the frosted window in the front door as she threw the bolt. Hannah had been right. There were no cars parked in the driveway except hers and Hannah's, and no one had parked on the street. Nancy went into the living room with her arms folded.

Thomas was standing uncomfortably next to a wing chair, his hands clasped in front of him. "Nancy," he began.

"Have a seat, uh, Thomas," Nancy said graciously. In the light, Nancy could see that he was in his mid-twenties, and that he had short black hair with dark eyes. He had a heavyset build, giving her the impression he held a sedentary job.

Thomas sat down uneasily. "Did your father mention that I need your help?" Nancy nodded, but said nothing, waiting for him to tell her the story. He looked at his hands. "Again, I'm sorry to just show up here unannounced. The police have confiscated most of my stuff, including my phone and PDA, and I really haven't been thinking clearly since this all began." He sighed. "I just don't know where to start. It's my sister. I think she's in trouble."

"Why do you think that?" Nancy prodded when he paused, taking a seat on the sofa.

Thomas raked his hand through his short hair. "We've been accused of using the money from our developments to finance a terrorist group!" he exclaimed finally.

"A terrorist group?" Nancy repeated, her brow furrowing. "Which group?"

"I don't even know," Thomas sighed. "It's a wild accusation from one of the contractors, I'm sure. It's just a front to get the attention back on us, to vilify us. Your father has been just stellar, handling all the media attention."

"I didn't hear about this," Nancy said slowly.

"It's been all over the news today," Hannah said as she came in with two glasses of lemonade. She set them down on the coffee table and then disappeared again before Nancy could say anything to her.

"In any case," Thomas went on, "it's one hundred percent untrue. But I've been hounded by the press since last week, when just the whiff of an accusation lay in the air. I had to leave Chicago—I couldn't take it anymore!"

"So you came here," Nancy put in, "but you continued to be followed."

"That's right." Thomas nodded. "How did you know?"

"Just simple deduction. I think saw you earlier today in front of the house, but before you could come up to the door, you took off because another car was following you."

Thomas nodded again. "It's not even a Chicago reporter, but a newsgroup from River Heights! Our company is one of the bidders for the redevelopment of Judiciary Square here downtown, and the local press got wind of our proposal. They tried to ambush me at my hotel this morning, and they've been following me all day! I just didn't want them to know I was visiting you, Nancy. I didn't want them hanging around your door, especially with your father as our lawyer. So when I came back here again, I parked really far away and came on foot."

"Let me guess—one of the reporters who's been hounding you is none other than Brenda Carlton."

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Oh, just another deduction," Nancy said with a smile. "It sounds like something she'd do." Brenda was one of Nancy's classmates, and she was a frequent thorn in her side. Brenda imagined herself to be something of an investigative reporter, and she worked for her father, who happened to own a local newspaper, the _Today's Times_. Nancy couldn't fault her for working for her family—after all, Nancy worked for her own father too!—but Brenda had proven again and again that she had no particular talent for reporting, and she'd almost bungled a few of Nancy's cases.

"Yeah, well, it's not her I'm worried about," Thomas said. "It's her partner, Jack something-or-other. He's like a bulldog with a bone! He won't back off. He was the one following me today, asking if we were planning on using the money from the municipal government to sponsor terrorists in this country! It's crazy!" He shook his head. "Anyway, that brings me to why I'm here." He blew out his breath in a giant sigh. "I think someone is harassing my sister, Daphne. She received a threatening letter a few days ago."

Nancy felt her frown deepen. "A few days ago?"

"That's what she said. We're not exactly on good terms, Daph and I. She and Branson barely talk. Ever since…" His voice faltered, and he took a long sip of the lemonade. "I'm sorry. I feel as though I'm not being entirely coherent."

"It's all right," Nancy said gently. "I can tell this is difficult."

"Yeah." He looked over his glass at her. "I feel nervous. I feel like I'm talking to the police, and Heaven knows I've done enough of that in the past little while—what with the lawsuits and all."

"I'm not the police," Nancy reminded him.

"I know. You're quite young, too. Carson said you've only just finished high school." He caught Nancy's indignant look and interpreted it correctly. "Oh, I'm not judging you. I know what it's like being young and not taken seriously. Branson and I, particularly Branson, were thrust into a position of responsibility at a young age. He still has a big chip on his shoulder, but it's no one's fault, really."

Nancy knew his story was getting off-track. Thomas Miller appeared tired and skittish, as though he was being pulled in too many directions at once. As he continued to sip the lemonade, Nancy searched her memory to put a story behind the man who sat before her. She knew a little bit about the Millers from her father. Carson Drew was an old acquaintance of Richard Miller, who used to be the CEO of his successful development company. Unfortunately, just under two years ago, Richard had begun to show some deterioration of his mental faculties. At first, he seemed to forget simple things, like where he parked his car and where he'd put his keys. However, his memory began to fail in more serious ways, and he'd once forgotten the way his home while driving and had stopped in the middle of a busy Chicago freeway. He had also done disturbing things like leaving the stove on and exiting the house, as well as not always recognizing his children. He was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease, and it quickly became clear that he could no longer function at work. The job of running the company had fallen to Branson, the eldest son. He had been in his mid-twenties at the time, and was already being groomed for the position of CEO, but Nancy's father had told her that it had been quite a burden. Thomas, the younger son, had been in college, but he had also joined the company upon his graduation in the fall. Nancy knew nothing about Daphne, their younger sister, except that she was around Nancy's age.

"I'm just not used to this!" Thomas burst out, setting the glass down with a thud. "I didn't really want to go into business anyway, but my mother… She really knows how to lay on the guilt trip. She and my father divorced years ago—amicably—and he made sure she lived a comfortable lifestyle. She didn't want to give it up, of course."

Nancy filed that information away, and decided she needed to direct Thomas's narrative a bit. "Tell me why you and Daphne aren't on good terms," Nancy suggested.

Thomas sighed heavily. "Our dad has Alzheimer's—you know that, right?" Nancy nodded. "We had to put my father in a nursing home on account of his behavior. He is a danger to himself without constant care, and Branson and I just couldn't provide that. We tried hiring in-home nurses and help, but it wasn't working. He had to be in a place that could meet all his needs, and so we did what we thought was best. Daphne was furious. She just didn't understand. She was a little younger than you when all this started, and she was probably the most attached to Dad. Anyway, she never forgave us for 'giving up on Dad'." Thomas said these last words with bitter irony. "We're all still civil to one another, but she decided to go to an out-of-state university last year—Winchester U—and we're barely in touch."

"But she mentioned that she was being threatened?" Nancy questioned.

"Yeah. We told her about the legal troubles we'd been having, and she told us that she was not going to get involved. Then yesterday she phones me in a panic and tells me that she got a threatening letter!"

"Do you think it has something to do with your current predicament?"

"I don't know. That would be my guess, but Daphne was so vague on the phone. And angry. She still blames us. I can tell."

"And you'd like me to see Daphne and figure out who's threatening her?" Nancy asked.

Thomas assented with a hurried nod. "I'm worried about her. I mean, if the press is hounding me here, who knows what's happening to her? I think she's scared. I've told her to go to the police, but she hasn't called me back. I'd go to her myself but, as a suspect, I can't leave the area." He swallowed painfully and glanced up at Nancy. "Will you help?"

"Of course I will," Nancy replied.

"Thank you." His shoulders relaxed in relief. "I'll try and make arrangements for you. Daphne is still on campus doing a summer term. She's majoring in Spanish. If I hadn't gone into business, I would have been studying languages too, but alas…" He cleared his throat. "Winchester is just outside New York City, near Westchester. Ordinarily I'd have you flown up in our private jet, but with our assets frozen at the present, that won't be possible."

"It's no trouble, Thomas," Nancy told him.

"I'll try and get in touch with her again and, if I can't, I'll leave her a message about your arrival. How soon do you think you can go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Great." He smiled for the first time, a little shyly. "I'm so grateful, Nancy. All I want is to know my little sister is safe and sound." He dipped his head, and eyed her pleadingly. "And, if you can, could you get her to drop her grudge and get her to come home?"

Nancy patted his hand. "I'll try my best, Thomas. But I have to warn you—I'm better at working on mysteries, not miracles."


	6. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Joe stood rooted in his spot, his mind whirling. The man had snatched a _baby?_ Joe had originally planned on tackling the thief, but now that didn't seem like such a good idea. He narrowed his eyes, noting that the man was trying to shove the bundle under his partially zipped sweatshirt. There was something wrong about the whole scene, but Joe couldn't immediately put his finger on it.

The man continued to run in the teenager's direction, but didn't seem to notice him. He was too busy glancing over his shoulder to see if the woman was pursuing him, but Joe could clearly see she was still standing near the bench, continuing her cries. When the man looked ahead again, he and Joe locked eyes, and Joe sucked in his breath in surprise. It was the same guy who had nearly bowled him over in the park a few minutes ago! Joe remembered that the guy had had his sweatshirt tied around his waist during that encounter, but he was now wearing it over his greasy hair and his venomous beady eyes peeked out underneath the hood.

The man realized in an instant that Joe wouldn't let him pass. He swerved to the left, and Joe accordingly started to run to head him off. Unfortunately, the move was just a feint, and without warning he spun around, heading for the street. Joe let out a startled cry, and had just enough time to reach out to grab a fistful of the man's sweatshirt before he stepped in front of the traffic. A cab screeched to a halt a few feet away, and Joe forcefully pulled the captor back onto the curb.

The man took advantage of their backward momentum and managed to work himself free from Joe's grasp. He looked as though was going to start running again, but before Joe could snatch his clothing again, the guy gave a startled yelp and hurriedly unzipped his shirtfront, causing the little bundle to fall to the ground.

"No!" Joe shouted, but it was too late. The small white form tumbled down…to land on its feet. Joe blinked at it dumbly, and it took a moment before he understood that he was staring at a little dog.

Dumbfounded, Joe gaped into the dark eyes of the barking Maltese, and the guy decided to use this brief lapse to begin his flight once more. However, before he could get more than a few steps, he was stopped and thrown into an effective headlock. Joe spied his brother's dark hair over the guy's shoulder. "Frank! How did you—?"

"I was on my way back to the van, and I saw everything. I leave you alone for a few minutes, and already you're trying to single-handedly rid the city of its most fearsome criminals!" He laughed at Joe's annoyance. "When I said I wanted you to surprise me, Joe, I should have specified I wanted to be surprised by _food_, not by your crime-fighting skills."

"Hah," Joe retorted sourly. "I didn't know he was a dognapper."

"Still, it's commendable," Frank said, his grip ever firm on the thief. "And it's even more commendable that you managed to keep your priorities straight and not get our lunch squished in the process."

"Yes, that does take talent," Joe admitted with a grin, holding their undamaged hoagies aloft.

"Lemme go!" shouted the trapped man. He added a few rude words, and then tried to spit at Joe. The Maltese paused in its incessant barking, and then started running to a point behind Frank. A few seconds later, the three of them were joined by the elderly lady Joe had seen at the bench, and Joe presumed she was the dog's owner.

"Oh, my God," she yelled, bending low to scoop the dog up in her arms. She smothered the animal with kisses, and then suddenly started berating the man Frank held. "Who are you? What did you think you were doing, stealing my dog? You're nothing but a—a—degenerate! A miscreant! A—" Her voice was cut off in a hiccupping sob.

The guy, not now even trying to escape Frank's sure grasp, merely gave her a defiant stare. "Look, lady. I thought that was my dog, and that _you_ were stealing him from _me_."

"_Her—she_," the woman sputtered. "She's a girl."

"Let me go," the man pleaded once again. "I've done nothing wrong. It was a case of mistaken identity."

"I think we need the police," Frank said wisely.

"I've already called them," the woman said breathlessly. She glanced at Frank and Joe briefly before setting her angry gaze on the thief. "You just stay where you are. I think I see an officer on her way now."

An officer did indeed join them a few minutes later. She swaggered up to them, her belt snug with her weapon and radio. "All right, people, what's going on here?"

The man, still in Frank's headlock, started raving. "These people attacked me for no reason! I'm an innocent civilian. You have to arrest these thugs! Look at the way I'm being treated."

"Let him go," the officer commanded to Frank, and he complied.

"Thank you," said the thief. "I'm pressing charges. I was just minding my own business, and then suddenly I'm brutally attacked. I'll throw the book at these guys!"

"He's lying," claimed the elderly woman. "I'm Tessa Russo. This man picked up my dog, Dolly, from my lap and started running away with her! It's thanks to these young men that he didn't get too far."

The young officer looked between the four of them carefully, obviously trying to decide what to do. Her decision was made when the man, seeing her hesitation, chose to try and make a run for it again. This time Joe was ready for him, and the man found himself flat on his back after only taking a few steps. The officer stood over him, and then bent down to pick up something that was half out of the man's pocket. She held it aloft, and Joe could see it was a small, clear bag with a white powder in it. "It's not what you think!" cried the man, to no avail. He was quickly searched, and then the officer quickly cuffed the man and spoke into her radio, demanding backup. As she kneeled on the man's back, she looked up and Frank and Joe. "I'll need your statements just as soon as I finish with her," she said with authority, pointing to Tessa.

"Of course," Frank said pleasantly. He moved away slightly, and Joe joined him as the officer starting questioning Tessa just as her backup arrived. In a low voice, his gaze on the scene before him, Frank murmured, "I don't know what it is about you, Joe, but you attract trouble—like a sci-fi convention attracts Trekkies."

Joe blinked at him. "What made you come up with that simile?"

"Simile, eh? I guess your new English teacher at Bayport High managed to teach you a thing or two after all." Joe's expression became indignant, which only served to make Frank laugh. "OK, I've spent the whole day going in and out of computer stores. Forgive me if I've absorbed some of that nerdiness."

"Frank—you—a nerd?" Joe snorted. "I would never think that. Just out of curiosity, what is that insignia on your T-shirt?"

"It's the logo of the county math competition. You know our team almost made it into the finals."

"I rest my case," Joe said solemnly.

At that moment, the little group was startled by a woman's shocked cry. Joe turned his head and spied a woman with dark hair running toward Tessa Russo. Tessa broke off her discussion with the cop and enveloped the young woman in a hug. "I'm fine, dear. Thanks to these upstanding young men." She disentangled herself and nodded toward Frank and Joe.

"Joe Hardy?" an incredulous voice asked. Joe smiled broadly, recognizing Shelley Pelligrini as she straightened up next to Tessa. "Wow, I can't believe it." Without warning, she threw her arms around Joe in an impromptu hug.

"This is Shelley Pelligrini," Joe said to Frank, catching his inquisitive look.

Frank raised his brows. "I think you've set a new record, Joe. In the half-an-hour I left you, you not only foiled an attempted dognapping, but you got the girl, too." Frank smiled disarmingly at Shelley. "I'm Frank Hardy—apparently Joe's lowly sidekick."

Shelley pulled away from Joe. "I don't understand. That guy—" she indicated the man who was now being ushered into a police car—"tried to take my great-aunt's dog? Why?"

Joe shrugged. "He claims it was a case of mistaken identity."

At that moment, the female officer turned away from Tessa and eyed the trio. Joe gave his statement first and, as Frank explained how he happened on the scene, he stepped back to survey the surroundings. A shiny glint flashed into his gaze next to the curb, and Joe moved toward it. It was the guy's cell phone, Joe noted, which must have fallen out of his pocket when Joe prevented him from running into the street. Thoughtful, Joe knelt down casually next to the phone. Using one of the napkins the hoagie vendor had given him, he carefully picked it up. He flipped open the cell phone, wondering. Looking through the call history, he noticed that the last several calls had been made from one number. On a hunch, Joe fished out his pen and wrote the number on another napkin. Satisfied, he shut the phone and handed it to the officer, explaining that he believed it belonged to the criminal. She nodded and put it into an evidence bag. Finally, satisfied with their statements, she handed them a small card with the NYPD symbol and contact information, instructing them to call if they remembered anything else.

Tessa turned to the Hardy brothers and started to thank them profusely, her dog still clasped in her arms. Joe held out his hand in an effort to get her to stop. "It's all right, Ms. Russo. It's all in a day's work. It's what we do."

"Please call me Tessa. And what do you mean 'it's all in a day's work'?" she asked. "You guys sound like superheroes or something."

"Or something," Joe replied with a grin. "Actually, my brother and I are amateur detectives. Stopping crimes comes naturally to us."

"Detectives?" Shelley queried in a soft voice, giving them a once-over. Joe noted that a troubled look crossed her features briefly, but then it passed when Tessa linked arms with her.

"I've had too much excitement for one day," Tessa declared. "I'm so sorry to cut our visit short, Shelley, but would you mind terribly if we went home now? I'm afraid my nerves are simply frayed."

"Of course, Aunt Tessa," Shelley murmured.

"And you young men," Tessa said, pointing to the Hardys, "I'd like you to walk us home, if you don't mind. I'd feel that much safer."

"It's not a problem," Frank told her.

Joe looked longingly at the now cooled hoagies in his hand, but managed to bite back the sigh that rose to his lips. Shelley gave him a sympathetic look, eyeing her own food, but then seemed relieved when he and Frank dutifully fell behind the women as they strode down Morningside Ave.

"I've lived in New York my whole life," Tessa said to them. "I've never been mugged—not once. And today…someone tried to steal my dog! I just don't understand it!"

"Aunt Tessa, why don't you tell the guys how much New York has changed in your lifetime?" Shelley suggested in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Tessa nodded vigorously, and started to tell all of them about her childhood. Joe noticed that Frank was listening intently, but that wasn't strange since he had an interest in history. Shelley, on the other hand, looked as though she had heard it all before, and she slowed her steps so that she was walking next to Joe. She started a few times to ask him something, but her aunt managed to interrupt her attempts at another conversation.

Finally, Tessa came to a stop and peered at her great-niece. "Shelley, you don't have to speak for me. I can do it myself. In fact, I was planning on cornering these nice young men when we arrived home."

Shelley stared in confusion. "Aunt Tessa, I—"

"It's all right, dear." Tessa rubbed her fingers along her dog's head and gazed Frank and Joe squarely. "You boys deserve a reward for your actions. Will you take a check?"

"Ms. Russo…Tessa," Frank began, startled, "we couldn't. I mean, we did what any citizen would do—"

"No, you didn't," Tessa stated. "I didn't see anyone else try and help me. That's so shameful! If it weren't for you two, I would have lost my Dolly. Please, accept a token of my appreciation."

Tessa had already reached in her purse and, balancing Dolly in one arm, she managed to pull out her checkbook and was in the process of writing. With a decisive motion, she separated the check and handed it to Joe.

Joe stared at the amount, blinking. "Ms. Russo…Tessa…This is—too generous of you. Honestly, we can't accept it." He glanced at Frank briefly, and then handed back the check, shaking his head. "Please. Just knowing that Dolly is safe is thanks enough."

Tessa merely raised her brows, and then looked pleased. "You two are such nice boys," she said. She hoisted her purse back onto her shoulder, and then she took Joe's elbow and steered them down the street once more. Again she took up her narrative about New York's recent history, but Joe was still trying to digest the amount written on that check. _All that for a simple good deed_, he mused. His thoughts were cut short when Tessa announced that they had arrived at her home, a stately residence with white columns flanking a set of crystal clear doors. Beyond them, Joe spotted a uniformed concierge seated at a desk that overlooked a spacious and elegant sitting room.

"Once again, Frank, Joe, I thank you," she said. She looked toward Shelley, and then asked, "Shelley, dear, do you think I should do something more for these boys? I mean, money is so impersonal. Maybe I should buy them a gift—?"

"No, please," Frank said to her. "We won't accept anything. It's not in our nature."

"I think you're embarrassing them, Aunt Tessa," Shelley declared. "C'mon. Let's go inside. Thanks again, Frank and Joe." With that, Shelley and Tessa said their goodbyes, and the two brothers watched as they disappeared past the decorative foyer of the building.

Frank met his brother's eyes questioningly, and Joe revealed the amount written on the check. Frank let out a low whistle. "That's incredible. The woman must be quite rich."

"I think that's a safe bet," Joe agreed, once again surveying the entrance of the building. He tilted his head back, noting the sign that hung discreetly over the doors. _Morningside Manor_, it read, _the perfect residence for the active senior_. Below that was a phone number. Joe frowned, his mind whirling. The number seemed awfully familiar… He dug out the napkin from his pocket and stared at it. There was no doubt. It was the same number he'd found in that lowlife's cell phone.

"Hey, Frank," Joe said in a muted voice. "I want to run an idea by you." He gestured to his brother to follow him across the street to a place that offered a clear view of the concierge desk in Tessa's residence, explaining his suspicion. When he finished, he asked if Frank had noted a nearby payphone.

Frank furrowed his brow. "Joe, payphones are few and far between now, with the advent of cell phones. Besides, why do you ask?"

"Because I do really think I'm a superhero and I need a place to change into my costume," Joe said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Frank merely grinned at him. "If I use my cell phone, my number will come up on the call display, and I don't want to risk that."

"But you want to see if that number you copied will ring up the concierge? Here, give me the number and I'll find a place that has a public phone." Joe handed him the napkin. "I'll meet you back here as soon as I can. If something comes up, call me. And I'll take these," Frank added, taking the hoagies. With that, he strode down the street, and then turned a corner.

Joe watched him go for a moment before turning back to the Morningside Manor to look at the desk through the large glass window, eyeing the profile of the concierge. The guy, maybe a few years older than Joe himself, was dressed in a dark uniform complete with a hat. Though it sat low on his brow, Joe could see, even from his distance, that the guy did not look pleased. He picked up the phone suddenly, and Joe felt a stab of excitement, but realized Frank couldn't have found a payphone so soon. Then Joe realized that the guy was dialing a number. A few seconds later, he put the phone back into its cradle. He repeated this routine several times before Joe noticed he gave a violent jerk and his fingers scrabbled for the receiver. He appeared to listen intently for a moment, and then, with a start, he turned around and stared squarely at Joe. His mouth hung open in shock, and then he leapt up from the desk and was flying out the glass door.

Joe pursued him immediately. Luckily the traffic was momentarily stopped by concordant red lights on either side, and so Joe had no trouble getting to the other side of the street. Joe's feet pounded on the pavement, and he knew he was gaining on the doorman, despite the slow moving pedestrians. Dodging a woman with a stroller and a man with a cane, Joe finally came upon his quarry, and he stopped him with a hard yank on his shoulder.

"Hey, man, it wasn't me!" cried the man, spinning around to face him. "I don't do drugs! It's only Dylan who does."

Joe had a faint idea what had led to this man's agitation, but he was a little unsure of how to proceed. He decided to adopt a gruff, authoritative approach and to see where that would lead him. "Maybe I'll go easier on you if you start talking," Joe said unkindly.

"I didn't know he was going to use the money for drugs," the man babbled. "I mean, I know he uses, but I didn't think he owed you guys that much! We hadn't decided on how much ransom to demand for that hag's dog. We know she's rich, and she'd pay almost anything to get the dog back."

"But you don't have the dog," Joe retorted.

"I don't know what happened!" the guy exclaimed. "Dylan was supposed to be taking care of that. I told him she was out for a walk. All he had to do was grab the dog, and then we'd ransom it back for money. I've been calling and calling him, and then I saw the Russo woman come back—with the dog! I swear, I don't know what happened, but it's not me you want."

"How do I know you're not just playing dumb?" Joe demanded. Before the guy could answer, Joe took out his cell phone and called Frank. When his brother picked up, Joe muttered, "We need some of our finest here." Frank told him he was on it and hung up. Joe continued speaking into the phone as though someone was listening, saying, "Dylan's pal claims he owes us nothing. Send Chet and Biff over to straighten this guy out." The guy paled at Joe's words, and Joe tightened his grip on the guy's arm painfully. "C'mon, we're going back."

"What—what are you going to do to me?"

"Me? Nothing. Chet and Biff, though? Well, I can't speak for them." The guy meekly started walking back toward the Morningside Manor, his face so dejected Joe almost laughed.

Once outside the residence, the guy stopped and stared at Joe. "Now what?"

"We wait for my reinforcements," Joe informed him.

"But I'm innocent!" the guy wailed. "You've got to believe me!"

"Unfortunately, I don't. We need the money, you see. And Dylan has gone MIA. Someone has to learn a lesson, and I think it's going to be you."

Joe and the concierge waited in silence for several minutes before a police car came around the corner and pulled to a stop in front of them. When the officer got out of the driver's seat, the guy in Joe's grasp started breathing heavily.

"What's going on here?" the officer asked.

The guy whipped his head between the police and Joe, and evidently decided the NYPD was a lesser evil compared to Joe. The concierge started to explain the story to the officer, almost begging him to take him downtown for questioning.

As he was talking, Frank joined them. "I see everything worked out," he said quietly to Joe.

The guy caught sight of Frank and started speaking more rapidly to the officer, his eyes wide. Joe noted his reaction and laughed. "The guy is singing like a canary. I think our work here is done. Let's go."

"Sounds good to me," Frank agreed.

The brothers were about to leave when the officer's partner broke away from the suspect and approached them. "Where are you two going?"

Frank and Joe exchanged a glance. "Uh, we're going—"

"Yeah, you guys are going nowhere," the officer cut in.

Frank looked at the man cordially. "Officer, I think there's been a mistake."

"No mistake," said the officer. "You two have been identified as drug dealers. You're coming with us."

"Drug dealers?" Frank repeated, staring at Joe. "Is that what you told him? Damn it, Joe, I was expecting you to impersonate the police."

Joe was about to reply when his stomach gave an unhappy rumble. He gave a long sigh and took in their predicament. "I guess that means we aren't getting lunch today, huh?"


	7. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

It wasn't until well after dinner that the boys saw each other again in the lobby of the 26th precinct, the local police station. Frank came out of the questioning room several minutes behind Joe, and when he found his younger brother, Frank noticed that Joe had already hit the vending machine.

"Chocolate bar?" Joe offered, holding out a candy that looked like it had been around since the Regan era.

"No, thanks," Frank said. "Let's just go. We've been here long enough." He sighed heavily, reflecting over the past few hours. At first, the police had accepted their involvement as an act of good Samaritans, but then Dylan, the first suspect, had spun a tale of Frank and Joe's partnership with a local drug dealer. He claimed that Joe had planted the bag of cocaine on his person when Joe had first tackled him. This had led to a round of further questioning by the detectives on the drug task force, who tried their best to suss out the Hardys' participation in the day's events.

At first Frank thought the truth would suffice to clear their names, but it quickly became obvious that the police viewed their overall actions as suspicious. At some point, the questions turned to the brothers' work as amateur detectives, but Frank wasn't sure if the police believed him or not. It was then that Frank decided to place a phone call to his father, Fenton Hardy. Fenton Hardy had been a well-liked detective of the NYPD a number of years ago, before he moved his family to Bayport to become a private investigator. He still kept in touch with his old colleagues, and Frank knew his father's word was golden. However, much to Frank's surprise, he was told he was free to go within minutes of placing the call. Frank was aware that his father had friends in high places, but he was amazed at the expediency of his release.

"We can't leave just yet," Joe told him now.

Frank stared at him crossly. "Why not? Dad's cleared us. We can go."

Joe raised his brows in surprise. "I don't think Dad's responsible for our release."

"Then who…?"

"Tessa Russo."

Frank frowned. "Did the police bring her here for questioning too?"

"No," Joe said, shaking his head. "They visited her home, and she apparently defended us valiantly—and then went on to implicate Jeffrey. He's the concierge from her building," Joe added. "She told the police how he had offered several times to walk Dolly for her, but she had refused. She'd begun to feel a little suspicious of him lately, but she couldn't get him fired with such a vague suspicion, let alone go to the police."

"How do you know all this?"

Joe gave him a mysterious smile. "I have my ways."

Frank coughed, seeing right through his brother. "Shelley Pelligrini told you, didn't she?"

Joe nodded. "She called me a while ago—and don't look at me like that. Yes, I gave her my number."

"Because she needed your help, or because you wanted a date?" Frank grinned at Joe's reaction. "Ah, the latter."

"Actually, she _does_ need our help," Joe said defensively. "She's on her way over here right now."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No. But it sounded serious. Something about her aunt."

Resigned to waiting, Frank accepted Joe's offer of the candy bar. They sat in silence until Joe spotted Shelley stepping into the lobby. She waved them over, and when they joined her, Frank saw that she had two large hoagies in a clear bag in her hand.

"Figured you guys hadn't eaten in a while," she explained.

"I knew you were a girl after my own heart," Joe murmured with a twinkle in his eye.

"C'mon, let's go outside." She led them onto the street, and Frank noted that sun was about an hour from setting. As it was, the sunrays were now only managing to peek their way through the tall buildings, and most of the haphazard lighting was caused by reflections from windows. "I know you guys would like to sit down and eat, but my aunt is pretty insistent that she meet with you. We could take a cab, but I was thinking of just walking since we are fairly close."

"As long as you don't mind if we walk and eat," Joe replied. "I'm starved."

Shelley laughed, a low musical sound. "Not at all. I'm a college student—I understand completely."

The three walked in silence for several blocks, Frank and Joe hungrily eating and Shelley looking lost in her thoughts. It wasn't until the brothers had polished off their food that Shelley began talking in a serious voice. "Frank, Joe, thank you so much for what you did today."

Joe gave her a wide grin. "Just doing our jobs, Shelley."

"But you ended up at the police station!"

"We've been in them before," Frank said darkly. "These guys were nice."

Shelley shot him a concerned look which he held before he gave her a wink to indicate he was kidding. "Still," she countered. "I can't believe they thought you were involved! When I called Joe to—uh—ask him something, I didn't know you were talking to the police. My aunt immediately called, and they came right over to question us. I hope we played a part in clearing your names."

"I think you did," Frank admitted. "I guess we owe you a thanks, then." She smiled weakly, and Frank gave her a shrewd look. "Why did you call Joe?"

"Frank!" Joe interjected, and Frank noted his brother's neck was already starting to flush with embarrassment.

"Well," Shelley started, unaware of Joe's discomfort, "when I bumped into you earlier, Joe, I thought I recognized you, but I wasn't sure. I lived in Bayport for a couple of months a few years ago, and your name sort of rang a bell…" She let her voice trail off slightly before continuing. "You said you two are detectives, and you're obviously good at what you do—you caught Jeffrey. And, on top of that, you refused money! That really impressed Aunt Tessa and me." She glanced between the two of them. "If you don't already have too much on your plate, we'd like to hire you."

"Our schedule is light at the moment," Frank said neutrally.

"Of course we'll help," Joe said firmly as he tossed a pointed look in Frank's direction. "Tell us how."

Shelley was silent for a long while, as though debating what to tell them. Frank decided to make an educated guess as to the nature of her problem, and stated, "It has something do to with your aunt's finances, right?"

"Right," Shelley replied, amazed. "How did you know?"

"Oh, just from the way you reacted when your aunt wrote that check earlier, and from the way you emphasized certain words in our conversation so far."

Shelley seemed impressed. "You guys are good at what you do." The trio stopped at a streetlight, and Shelley shuffled her feet a little. "Let me start from the beginning. My great-aunt—she lived in the Flatbush neighborhood for as long as I can remember. My great-uncle was a teacher, and she stayed at home as most women did of her generation. When my uncle died, she had to scrape by on his meager pension. Last year, she won the New York State lottery. And ever since she won it, she's put aside her common sense. Before, when she was just managing, she would scrimp and save. Now she's been spending like there's no end. And of course there's an end."

Joe frowned. "Has she racked up some debts?"

Shelley blew out a long sigh and they began to cross the street with the other pedestrians. "No. Not quite. She's started to enjoy her wealth, and has decided to invest a good portion of the remaining winnings."

"That sounds like a smart move," Frank said.

"Maybe if she'd put her money in some blue chip stocks. No, instead she's invested in a relatively unknown company."

Frank exchanged a glance with Joe. After a long pause, Frank cleared his throat. "I'm not really sure how we can help. Has there been a crime?"

Shelley appeared a little uncomfortable. "I'm—not sure. But in light of what happened today, my aunt and I are worried about her finances. She feels like she can trust you—and so do I." She looked at the brothers pleadingly. "My aunt believes you can help. She can better explain the situation."

The spectacular entrance to Tessa Russo's building did not belie the decor and layout of her suite. It was large and well kept, like the living quarters in the penthouse of a five-star hotel. Frank heard Joe whistle under his breath as they took in the fine furniture, the plush carpets, and the gorgeous view overlooking Morningside Park. Dolly, who had started barking on their arrival, quickly quieted when Joe picked her up to pet her.

Tessa was obviously pleased to see the Hardys once more. "Thank you again," she cried, wringing her hands as though she was trying to stop herself from embracing them. Frank couldn't help but notice her expensive jewelry.

"It's what we do," Frank murmured noncommittally. "Ms. Russo—Tessa—Shelley mentioned that you might need our help on another matter."

"Oh, my. Yes!" Tessa exclaimed. "Has she told you about Muyaxche?"

"Not exactly," Joe put in, putting Dolly down.

Tessa gestured to her sitting area. Once everyone was comfortable, she continued with her story. "I'm sure Shelley mentioned how I came to be living here." Frank nodded. "I couldn't manage at my house anymore. Groceries, cooking, cleaning—even stairs! It was getting too much. This building is one of the most exclusive in the city that caters to my needs. I can still retain my independence, but the staff takes care of the things I can't manage. It's not cheap, you understand. This building is only for a select clientele. My neighbors are all very well-to-do, most of them having worked in politics or business.

"Actually, that's how I found out about Muyaxche. My neighbor circulated a brief business portfolio a month ago, and suddenly it seemed like the whole building had him investing on our behalf."

Frank felt a frown tug at his brows. "What is Muyaxche?"

"It's this piece of land in Mexico. My neighbor was very excited about it. He wanted to buy the land because he thought there was gold on it." She wrung her hands again, her rings winking in the lamplight. "I understood that he was going to buy it as a private investor, but then I gather he invested in a company called Gemsun, which is in the business of finding potential mine sites and developing them." She sighed. "I'm not really sure I understand the details, but Martin—Martin Ivers—does."

"Who is Martin Ivers?" Joe asked.

"He's my neighbor—the one who got us to invest in the first place. You'd really have to talk to him about it."

"I see," Frank said, still frowning. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how we can help you. Nothing seems to point to—"

"Here," Tessa interrupted, reaching out to the coffee table suddenly to pick up an envelope. She handed it wordlessly to Frank, her eyes downcast.

Frank held the envelope in such a way that Joe could also make his inspection. Frank immediately noticed that the envelope, of a standard white quality, was addressed to Tessa Russo in a nondescript black computer font. There was no return address. The top of the envelope was opened neatly, most likely by a letter-opener. The letter inside was only one page, and the page was an unremarkable white letter-sized sheet. Frank read the typed missive aloud. " 'Dear Tessa Russo, you may want to reconsider your investment in Gemsun at this time.' " Frank turned the paper over, but there was nothing more.

"That's odd," Joe commented.

"Isn't it?" Shelley confirmed, nodding. "It came in the mail yesterday. We didn't quite know what to make of it, so we tried to see Martin."

"But he isn't home," Tessa interjected. "We think he may have gone to his daughter's place in the Hamptons."

"Hmmm," Frank murmured. He caught Joe's eye and saw his own sense of intrigue mirrored in his brother's gaze. "Why would you have to see Martin if you wanted to sell your shares?"

"Well, he invested the money for me," Tessa explained. "He collected the funds from interested investors here in the building and told us he was buying shares in Muyaxche on our behalf. I guess he changed his mind and decided to go with Gemsun instead. As I said, I don't quite understand this whole business of investing, but I trust Martin."

"Do you still trust him?" Frank asked pointedly.

"Of course!" Tessa said, a little defiant.

"I'm sorry to have asked, but it does seem a little suspicious that he's not here when you received this note telling you to reconsider your investment. Did everyone who invested with Ivers get this note?" Tessa nodded silently. "Do you have any paperwork to support your investment?" Frank questioned.

"No," Tessa said quietly. "I know it doesn't sound like I did the wisest thing, but Martin made a lot of money through investments in the past. I can't believe he would want to take advantage of us, his friends and neighbors. No, I think something else is going on. Now Shelley here," Tessa sighed, gesturing to her niece, "is worried about my finances, but I'm more concerned about Martin. He wouldn't be unreachable unless something had happened to him."

"So you want us to find him?" Joe asked simply.

Shelley nodded. "Find him, yes. That's part of it. But we also want you to look into this Gemsun company, and to find out why someone has asked us not to invest in it." She cleared her throat and gave a meaningful look toward her aunt. "Martin told us that he was planning to attend an investment gala in Westchester. We were thinking of going as his guests, but…"

"With Martin gone, and with today's events," Tessa continued, "I'm not sure I want to leave my apartment at all."

Frank nodded at her concerned voice. "We'll do our best to learn more about Gemsun and to track down Martin Ivers. Do you have an address for him?"

"I believe so." Tessa stood up and ambled over to an antique writing desk in the corner of the room. After a moment of sifting through papers in the top drawer, she joined the group and handed Joe what looked like a small invitation. "We were invited to a garden party at his place during the spring," Tessa explained. "But Shelley had her exams, and I didn't want to go by myself. That invitation has his address in Rosehampton. I hope that helps."

"This is a good place to start," Frank agreed as Joe tucked the card away.

"You know what else may help?" She stood again, and made her way to the suite's entrance, stopping to pick up her purse. She turned, and Frank could see her rummaging in the bag for a moment before she pulled out her checkbook again. As she neared them, she held out a check, which Frank assumed was the same one she had tried to give Joe earlier. "I know you two have a strict policy on accepting monetary gifts, but maybe you could see this as a commission of sorts. You'll need some money to cover your expenses."

"But we don't accept money—" Joe began.

"Phooey," interjected Tessa. "I won't listen to that nonsense again. You are not doing a good deed for me anymore. I have officially hired you, and I am paying you for your investigative services. Don't bother arguing with me," Tessa said sternly when Frank opened his mouth. "I have made up my mind."

"Well, thank you, Tessa," Joe said, pocketing the check. "Frank and I will get to the bottom of this. You can count on us."

"I know I can. I knew it from the moment we met," Tessa said warmly. She stood once more, and Frank knew the meeting was at an end. He and Joe thanked her again for the money, and promised to keep her informed with all developments in the case. She nodded, clearly pleased, and asked Shelley to see them out.

Shelley didn't say much on the elevator, but as they neared the front door, Shelley glanced at the empty concierge desk and shuddered. "Frank, Joe, there's something my aunt hasn't told you. I did a little digging myself, and I've learned that Martin Ivers used to work for Bauxcom."

"That name rings a bell," Frank said slowly as his memory supplied him with the desired information. "Bauxcom was a Connecticut company based on aluminum refining and product development," he told Joe. "It suffered a major scandal when it convinced a Jamaican mining company to fund the development of a refinery on the East coast. Turns out the chosen site was deemed unfit, but not before the Jamaican company had paid out a large sum of money to Bauxcom."

Shelley clicked her tongue in agreement. "Apparently, the inquest revealed a memo that stated Bauxcom intentionally chose a poor area to put down a foundation for its refinery, and the scandal was disastrous."

"Was Ivers involved?" Frank asked.

"I don't know," Shelley said miserably. "I hope not, because there's something else my aunt neglected to mention." Shelley paused, heaving a long sigh. "She's invested almost all of her money in this Gemsun company. If something goes wrong, she'll be back in Flatbush in a heartbeat."

"Don't worry," Joe said reassuringly. "We'll figure out what's going on."

"I hope so." Shelley gave him a shy smile. "Thanks again for all your help today. We really appreciate it." She extended her hand to Frank.

"It's what we do," he replied, shaking it firmly. Joe also shook her hand, although it looked like he'd rather have a more intimate form of gratitude.

"Bye, Frank, Joe," Shelley murmured. She waved at them as they opened the door, and then she headed back for the elevators as the brothers turned on the sidewalk to begin the walk back to their van.

"Well," Joe drawled after a few moments, disturbing Frank's thoughts on how to best proceed with their investigation. "This day turned out to be much more exciting than I thought it would."

"Are you saying that a day spent shopping with me is too mundane for you, bro?" Frank questioned.

"Yep, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Always so tactful," Frank muttered with a smile. "But I'm glad we got a new case. I was going a little stir-crazy myself."

"A case that troubles a pretty girl whose great-aunt is a paying client," Joe stated, kicking a stray pebble from their path. "Tell me, Frank, how many CPUs can you buy with this money?" he asked, patting his pants' pocket.

"Oh, more than I ever thought possible."

Joe turned and frowned deeply into his brother's face. "Well, I guess that's an extra incentive for us, isn't it? We'd better catch up with this Martin Ivers guy—if we ever want to cash Tessa Russo's check."


	8. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Nancy shut a section of the Miller file with a sigh, moments before the flight attendant advised her to stow away her personal belongings for the plane's landing. It had been an extremely short trip from LaGuardia to Westchester. She had read through a sizeable chunk of papers during the flight from Chicago to New York—and had found nothing overtly suspicious—but on the second flight she had been too busy replaying the events of the preceding night and that morning in her head to focus.

The previous evening, after agreeing to help Daphne Miller, Nancy had seen Thomas out of her home. She then had called her father, who immediately apologized for not returning her earlier call. "The terrorist angle," Nancy had told him. "Thomas told me. It's OK, Dad. I know you've been busy. Thomas wants me to check up on Daphne in New York, but you probably already know that."

"I knew I could count on you, honey. I'm sure it's nothing, but it sounds like the poor girl is spooked. I thought perhaps you're in the best position to help. In any case, it doesn't sound like it'll take you more than a few days to get to the bottom of that threat, and then you can head back here and help me with this case."

"Will do," Nancy had agreed with a grin. "Actually, I'm driving into Chicago in the morning. Shall we have lunch?"

"Anything for my darling daughter," Carson had said. "You might as well leave your car here at the hotel, too. I'll drive you to O'Hare afterwards."

Nancy did have lunch with her father earlier that day, at which they discussed her suspicions about Wired Up. Carson had concurred with her thought that the estimate seemed too high, and he told her he would try to look into it while she was away. "However, Nancy, this might just be an incidental finding. Miller's company has lost a substantial amount of money, and this just doesn't explain the bulk of the loss."

"I know," Nancy had said. "But it's a starting point, right?"

From the airport, after she had picked up the ticket Thomas Miller had purchased for her, she had called her best friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne. In addition to being close friends, the two of them were in fact cousins. Neither of them answered their phones, but Nancy knew that wasn't unusual. Bess was probably working at her job at the cosmetics counter of a local department store, and George was currently employed as an assistant to physiotherapist at one of the medical clinics in River Heights. Nancy had hung up after leaving the messages, her smile a little sad. The three of them had planned a girls' night out the following evening, complete with dinner and a movie, and Nancy hated canceling on them. However, her friends knew that her detective work was often unpredictable, and they understood when she needed to postpone plans.

Next, Nancy had called her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. She had heard the ring tone four times before the answering service picked up. A little disappointed, she had left a message telling him about her trip, but that she expected to be back in River Heights by the end of the week. Ned was a student at Emerson College, but he was spending the summer at home. He was working for an insurance company, Nancy knew, but he had taken the week off to go on a family vacation to Florida with his parents. She hadn't heard from him in a few days, and she was starting to miss him. She made a mental promise that she was going to spend some quality time with him when they were both back home.

With a heavy sigh, Nancy turned her mind to the present, watching the ground appear closer and closer as the plane began its steady descent. The muffled whine of the twin-engine aircraft changed in pitch as Nancy's ears cleared with the pressure variation, and she spied the aileron shifting, causing the plane to bank as it made its approach to the runway. The sun fell into her eyes as the wings leveled, and Nancy sighed again, sitting back in her seat and glancing at the other passengers. The plane was only half-full, and she felt a little out of place as the majority of the people were middle-aged and dressed in business suits. There was a young family seated across the aisle from Nancy; the toddler had been babbling happily most of the flight but now she began to cry a little. Nancy caught the father's gaze and smiled sympathetically. "Try and get her to swallow," she suggested. "I think her ears may be bothering her."

The father nodded and fished out a sippy-cup. After a few gulps, the little girl stopped her soft wail and started to chirp contentedly. "Thanks," he murmured to Nancy.

"It's nothing," she replied.

A few minutes later, the plane landed at the Westchester Airport without incident. Nancy glanced at her watch as they taxied to their gate, and realized she'd forgotten to adjust the time when she'd been at LaGuardia. Dutifully advancing the watch hands by an hour, she listened with half an ear as the pilot thanked the passengers for flying with their airline and wished them all a pleasant day.

Once in the small airport, Nancy gave a thorough once-over of the lobby. Most of the business people from the plane immediately made their way to the car rental booth, while the young family was greeted by two elderly, white-haired individuals. Nancy was just about to join the rental line when she noticed a young woman about her age standing uncertainly next to a bank of seats with metal armrests. This girl bore some resemblance to Thomas Miller—she had dark hair and the same shape of chin. Before Nancy could speak, the girl approached her.

"You must be Nancy," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Daphne Miller."

Nancy nodded and shook her hand, wondering. She had expected a cooler welcome, given the fact that she was working for the girl's brothers, but Daphne seemed almost relieved to see her. "Thanks for picking me up, Daphne. I was hoping not to have to rent a car. It's always such a hassle, given my age."

Daphne nodded, looking a little distracted. "Do you need any help with your bags?"

"No," Nancy told her. "Oh, the carousel is running now, and I see my luggage. I'll be just a moment."

After Nancy had collected her single piece of luggage, she followed Daphne out to where she had parked her car. "Are there a lot of businesses in Westchester?" Nancy questioned, more out of a need to make conversation than curiosity.

"Not really," Daphne said. "The biggest industry here is the university, with the expected businesses that cater to students. But I think there's some kind of conference going on at Winchester this week."

"I see," Nancy murmured, unconsciously glancing about her as Daphne led her through the parking lot. After they had settled in the car, Nancy occasionally peeked in the rearview and side mirrors, making a note of the vehicles in their environment.

"What are you doing?" Daphne questioned.

"Oh," Nancy sighed. "Just a habit, I guess. I'm trying to see if anyone is following us."

"Why would someone want to do that?"

Nancy turned her gaze onto her companion. "Your brother, Thomas, was being followed in River Heights, and he was afraid someone was doing the same to you. Didn't he tell you?"

Daphne glanced at Nancy guiltily before turning her attention back to the road, tucking a dark strand of hair impatiently behind her ear. "Maybe he did. I wasn't listening. I was just so _mad_ that I was being pulled into the family scandal."

"But you _did_ receive a threatening letter," Nancy prodded.

"Yeah," Daphne muttered unconvincingly. "Nancy, I'm glad you're here. Something is definitely going on, but I'm not sure I'm the person being targeted."

"Then who…?"

"My roommate, Raya Alvarez." Daphne negotiated her way onto the highway leading into Westchester. Nancy felt a puzzled look fall on her features, and Daphne saw it. "Let me start from the beginning, then."

"Please do."

"I went away last weekend, to upstate New York. A classmate of mine was having a party to celebrate his sister's successful defense for her PhD. When I came home, there was this note pinned to my door. It had no address, and it had a suspicious message written on it. I panicked, thinking of the mess my brothers are in, and phoned Thomas. I guess I must have sounded really worried because he called me back yesterday and told me you were on your way."

"But why do you think Raya was the intended recipient?"

"I'll let you read the note when we get to my place," Daphne said. "The more I look at it, the more it doesn't make sense to me."

"OK," Nancy said noncommittally. "But if this letter with no addressee was pinned to your door, why didn't Raya open it?"

"Because she's not here. She went to Mexico a week ago."

"Mexico?"

"She's working on this archeological dig down in the Yucatan peninsula."

"I assume this is through the university," Nancy commented.

"Yeah." Daphne was silent for a long moment while she exited the highway and turned onto a busy road. "The dig is called Muyaxche. Raya and a few people from the department went down earlier in the summer for a preliminary survey, I think. She spent some time here sorting through her findings, and then she just went back a week ago to do more work."

Nancy frowned. "But why would Raya get a threatening letter, especially if she's not even in the country?"

"I don't know!" Daphne burst out. "But I think she's definitely in some sort of trouble. I haven't heard from her since she arrived. She called me when she got into Cancun, and she e-mailed me the next day, but since then—nothing!"

"And that's unusual for her?"

"Oh, yes. We're constantly in contact. The last time she went to Mexico, she sent me an e-mail almost everyday. She's writing a research paper about Muyaxche, and she had been sending me her findings just in case something happened to her computer. She just wouldn't have stopped e-mailing me without a good reason."

"Maybe her computer _did_ break down," Nancy reasoned.

"Then she would call me. Trust me, Nancy, this silence is really weird."

"Have you reported this to the authorities?"

"No," Daphne admitted. "I wouldn't know what to say. The police would give me the same arguments you just mentioned, and then they would tell me that I'm wasting their time. I don't have any proof, and I'm sure that note I found is worth nothing in light of my family's situation."

"Hmmm," Nancy murmured. "All right, I'll have to see this note for myself."

It wasn't until a little while later that Nancy got a chance to see it. After a few minutes of driving through Westchester, Daphne pulled into pleasant-looking apartment complex. "This is a nice building," Nancy said admiringly as they crossed the fashionable reception area to a sleek bank of elevators.

"I suppose. I hardly notice anymore." Daphne pressed the 'up' button. "My father built this place."

"Really?" Nancy was silent for the elevator ride, which took them all the way to the top floor. Daphne let them into a spacious apartment which was tastefully furnished with student staples—a couple of desks, a living room set complete with beanbags, a stereo system and TV, and a four-seat kitchen table that was covered in papers. "I didn't know your family's company did work outside Illinois. Did your father go to Winchester University then?"

Daphne nodded, putting her purse next to the door and taking Nancy's jacket. "He met my mother here. He always promised that he would make a contribution to Winchester whenever he became successful."

"So you didn't run away—not really," Nancy murmured. Daphne frowned at her remark, and Nancy explained. "Thomas seemed a little upset that you decided not to study in Chicago."

Daphne shrugged. "Thomas and Branson both went to the University of Chicago, but my dad always thought it would be better for me to come here—to keep the Miller name as an alumnus, I guess." Daphne waved her hand in the direction of the closed door just visible down a darkened hall. "You can use Raya's room while you're here, Nancy," Daphne said. "I'll put your bag down, and I'll be back with that letter."

"OK, thanks," Nancy said, handing her bag over. As Daphne made her way to the room, turning on lights as she went, Nancy stepped back and opened the front door. Just under the peephole was a wide strip of corkboard covering nearly the whole width of the door. Half a dozen colored pushpins were clustered in one corner of the board. Nancy glanced at the other doors in her line of sight and noticed many of them had notes and envelopes pinned to their respective corkboards.

Nancy stepped back into the apartment and closed the door just as Daphne exited the room. "Here," she said, handing Nancy a piece of white computer paper. "I thought it was meant for me, but now I'm not so sure."

Unfolding the note, Nancy read the words aloud: " 'Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you.' "

Daphne shuddered. "It still gives me the creeps but, like I said, I don't think it was meant for me. Who would want me to keep my mouth shut? I don't know anything about the company scandal—I haven't been in Chicago since New Year's."

"Even if you did," Nancy said softly, "I'm sure the reporters here would want you to talk, not keep silent."

Daphne nodded. "That's why I think the note was meant for Raya. But you see why I can't go to the authorities yet? The threat is rather ambiguous, and I can't prove that Raya is in trouble, despite the fact that I haven't heard from her in nearly a week. However, I think the situation is suspicious. Can you look into this for me, Nancy?"

Nancy frowned. It _did_ sound suspicious, but Nancy wasn't sure what to make of the story or where she could begin. Daphne watched her carefully, but guessed erroneously about the reason for her silence. "If you need money for your fee, I could pay you—"

"No, that's not it," Nancy said. "I don't generally charge a fee. I'm an amateur."

Daphne nodded. "Oh yeah. Thomas mentioned that. So will you take the case?"

Nancy only needed seconds to agree. "Of course I will."

"Great!" Daphne impulsively hugged her. "I hope everything is fine and I'm just being too high-strung, but I can't shake this terrible feeling that Raya is in trouble. You have to promise to find her and bring her home, Nancy."

"I'll try," Nancy said as gently as she could, all the while thinking of what she had said to Daphne's brother the night before.

_I'm better at working on mysteries…not miracles._


	9. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Frank stared worriedly at the speedometer of the van, and then flicked his eyes to his brother's face. Joe was humming along with the song on the radio and occasionally tapped his fingers on the steering wheel for emphasis, but he stopped abruptly when he noticed Frank's interest. "What is it?"

"I could ask you the same question," Frank said. "Is there something wrong with the van?"

"With the van? What do you mean?"

"I mean—you're driving awfully slow."

"I'm going the speed limit, Frank."

"Yeah, and I'm well aware that you consider this slow."

"But how else would I enjoy this lovely scenery?"

Frank frowned, and lowered the sheet of paper he was reading onto the stack on his lap. He glanced at the passing landscape, at first not seeing what had caught Joe's attention. Rosehampton, it turned out, was an hour east of Bayport, but not as east as Montauk, which meant he couldn't see the Atlantic from the highway. Mostly what he saw were swaths of proud hardwoods bathing in the mid-morning sun with occasional buildings breaking up the tree border. As he more carefully surveyed the sights, Frank suddenly realized the source of Joe's fascination. A convertible passed them on the left, and Joe displayed one of his trademark dazzling grins to the driver and passenger—both young, good-looking women scantily clad in swimsuits and sheer cover-ups. After passing the brothers, the convertible gradually slowed, at which point Joe decided to pull ahead, but not without giving the women another once-over as he did. He then quickly slowed to the posted limit as soon as he could.

"Why am I not surprised?" Frank muttered, mostly to himself, and managed to restrain the eye-rolling reflex. He was tempted to make a comment about Joe's apparent interest in Shelley Pelligrini the day before, but he bit his tongue. Joe had always been something of a teenage Casanova, but he had harbored deep feelings for only one girl throughout high school—Iola Morton. When she was killed under the most tragic of circumstances, Frank knew Joe held himself responsible. While he had seemingly recovered after getting closure on her murder, Frank had noticed that Joe's perspective had changed somewhat on relationships. He'd allowed himself to return to flirting openly, but it was something of a defense mechanism—to keep him from dwelling on Iola, Frank had mused. The flirtations never progressed into something serious, and he knew Joe wanted it that way. He wasn't ready to move on just yet, and Frank understood his brother enough to avoid pushing the subject.

"Did you say something, Frank?" Joe questioned, still grinning at his newfound road companions.

"Not really," Frank answered evasively, shifting the papers on his lap. "I'm just going over some stuff I gleaned from the quick and dirty Internet search I did earlier for our case."

Joe heaved a sigh. "Oh, Frank with the one-track-mind—all business, all the time. There are _two_ of them, you know," he said teasingly. "I'm sure they'd be more than willing to show us around the Hamptons."

"And so will our handy map," Frank retorted dryly.

Joe laughed. "All right, level with me. What did you find out about our Mr. Martin Ivers?"

"Not a great deal," Frank admitted, sifting through the pages he had printed earlier that morning before they had left Bayport. "He _did_ indeed work for Bauxcom, and later transferred to another mining company when Bauxcom dissolved. He worked at this other company, RT Minerals, for a while and was on its Board of Directors until he retired a few years ago. But what's really interesting is that RT Minerals was bought by Gemsun right around the time Ivers retired."

Joe frowned. "So there is a pre-existing connection between Ivers and Gemsun."

Frank shrugged. "Truthfully, I'm not surprised. I'm sure the mining community is a tight-knit one."

"We definitely have some questions for Mr. Martin Ivers, that's for sure." Joe straightened slightly in the driver's seat. "Heads up. Here comes the exit for Rosehampton." He smoothly changed lanes, and soon the brothers found themselves on the small main road of the tiny town. They passed a quaint general store, a historic fire hall, and a charming city hall made of limestone before Frank instructed Joe to turn. Referring to the driving directions he had printed off as part of his research, Frank had them on the right winding country road within a matter of minutes.

"OK," Frank said, "keep your eye out for number 1730."

"Will do."

The rural road, though paved, was fairly narrow, but fortunately they only passed a few cars heading in the opposite direction. The further they drove from the main road, the more elaborate the houses became. Most of the buildings were considered mansions, with manicured lawns and multi-car garages. Joe let out a low whistle as they drove by one spectacular home, of which Frank only caught a glimpse between the large trimmed hedges.

"Here's 1730," Joe announced after a moment, nodding to a property on his side of the road. It was not as fancy as the one across the street, but it was still striking. The building was only one story, but it was almost sprawling, with columns flanking a wooden door, a large verandah on one side, and an attached three-car garage. There was an SUV parked outside on the circular driveway, next to two BMWs, and an older-looking pick-up truck was nearby. Joe slowly maneuvered their van behind the SUV and turned off the engine.

Stepping outside, Frank marveled at the quiet of the neighborhood. Bayport was a fairly tranquil municipality, but it was definitely a suburb. Rosehampton, especially this part, was a getaway for the elite. Frank felt as though he had walked on the set of _The Great Gatsby_.

"This guy can't be doing too bad financially," Joe murmured. "This place is huge."

Frank nodded, shutting the passenger door. "Let's ask Mr. Ivers some questions." He and Joe walked up to the impressive door, but before he could ring the doorbell, the door swung open.

"Well, this is certainly a surprise," came a voice from the shaded interior. A second later, a smartly dressed woman in her late twenties or early thirties came into view. The deep pink of her business suit set off her glowing dark skin, and a chunky gold bracelet clinked as she put out her hand to greet them. "I wasn't expecting another interested group at this open house. You guys look awfully young to be purchasing property," she commented pointedly. She paused briefly, sizing up the brothers, and Frank exchanged a quick glance with Joe. Before either could supply a suitable remark, the woman continued. "From experience, that means you must be in the dot-com sector."

Frank shrugged nonchalantly. "That's a reasonable assumption."

"I knew it! What did you guys create?"

Frank lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I guess you could say we're in the search engine business." He ignored Joe's amused gaze. "I'm Frank Hardy, and this is my partner and brother, Joseph."

" 'Joe' will do," Joe said.

"Well, come in, come in. I'm Donna, from Greenmont Real Estate. You're absolutely going to love this house. It just came on the market, and I'm sure by tonight we'll have several offers." She waited while the brothers removed their shoes to join the six pairs already on the mat, and then she gestured widely at the grand foyer with its pristine tiled floors and high chandelier. "Note the lovely skylight. When the sun comes out from behind the clouds, the chandelier just glitters. Simply stunning."

"Stunning," Frank echoed. "We only learned about this place today. How long has it been up for sale?"

"Only two days," Donna replied, leading the way to the kitchen. "Hampton estates always go quickly."

As they entered the kitchen and dining area, Frank noted two other couples murmuring to each other. One was a man and woman who looked in their mid-fifties, and the other was a couple of men about Donna's age. Frank didn't recognize the elderly pair, but the second pair seemed familiar. Behind the two men stood a lone gentleman of Asian descent. The combination of having a smooth face and a short stature made it hard for Frank to guess his age, but eventually he pegged him to be in his late twenties.

"Frank and Joe Hardy," said Donna, "meet the Llellewyns. Over there is Dan Ivanov and Ivan Daniels."

"The popular TV design hosts," put in Ms. Llellewyn, gushing, and Frank mentally acknowledged that he had seen the men on TV before.

"She's a big fan of your show," Mr. Llellewyn added.

"It's always nice to meet a fan," Dan said easily. "Would you like an autograph?"

She nodded, giggling. As she and the TV hosts conversed, Donna pointed out the single man to the brothers. "That's Edward Chan."

"Nice to meet you," he said curtly.

"All right, let's continue with our tour," Donna proclaimed. She led the group around the kitchen, pointing out various features, and then drew their attention to the breakfast nook. As she ushered them to living room, Frank and Joe hung back slightly.

"I take back what I said," Joe murmured. "Ivers isn't doing so well, is he?"

Frank shook his head. "Tessa and Shelley gave no indication that he was selling this place."

"Very strange," Joe stated. As the group passed into the sunken sitting room, Joe caught up with Donna. "Donna, is Martin Ivers taking offers for this place personally?" he asked.

Donna looked a little startled. "Well, we're representing him. His daughter, Paula, is a good friend of mine. Technically he owns the property, but he's in no shape to entertain private offers."

"Why?" Joe blurted.

Frank cleared his throat, noting that Joe had earned a sharp glance from Edward Chan. "We have mutual acquaintances in New York," Frank said smoothly. "In fact, that's how we heard about this place. We were planning on meeting him."

Donna moved closer to the Hardys and lowered her voice. "Martin is in the hospital. We think he had a stroke."

"Is he OK?" Frank asked, genuinely concerned.

"Paula says he is. He's undergoing some routine testing and getting his medication adjusted. I don't think he has too much residual weakness. Plus, he hasn't been transferred out to the city for further care, so that's good."

"That is good," Joe repeated.

Donna smiled brightly and resumed the tour, and Frank and Joe once again brought up the rear. "Something strange is definitely going on," Frank whispered. "Why would a supposedly well-off man suffering from a minor stroke want to put his property up for sale?"

Joe shrugged. "I think we have to make a trip to the local hospital to get our answers."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

"OK, so what's our plan on getting to talk to Martin Ivers?" Joe asked a little later as he pulled the van into the hospital parking lot. He leaned out of the window and grabbed a parking ticket, and then gently accelerated as the parking arm swung upward to clear the roadway. "Should we ask for his room, pretending to be his nephews or something?"

"Sounds reasonable," Frank agreed. "That should get us his room number. If his family is already visiting him, we'll have to wing it with an adequate cover story."

"Let's cross that bridge when we get there," Joe said impatiently as he parked. He led the way to the main entrance of the hospital, and the brothers paused outside the double doors to let a woman in a wheelchair pass first. As he entered, Joe spotted the information desk and was about to step up to it when he felt Frank's hand on his shoulder.

"Ivers is here, sitting near that coffee shop," Frank explained in a low voice, indicating a lone silver-haired man in an unflattering blue cloth robe staring glumly at his drink at a table located down the hall.

"How do you know?" Joe asked, curious.

"His retirement party photos were online," Frank said. "It looks like him."

Joe nodded, and they both strode up to the man. He didn't notice their approach until Joe inquired, "Martin Ivers?"

Ivers jerked his head up with a snap, and his eyes widened as he took in the tall brothers. "That's me," he confirmed in a trembling voice, and the hand holding his coffee cup shook. "What do you want?"

"We want to talk to you about Gemsun," Frank told him, sliding in the seat across from him.

"Gemsun, eh?" Ivers returned bitterly. "Did Emily send you?"

"Emily?" Joe furrowed his brows.

"That bloodsucking woman!" Ivers burst out, startling the detectives. "I can't believe she tracked me down when I'm in the hospital. She just can't leave me alone!"

"I think you're mistaken—" Frank tried to interject.

Ivers cut him off, raking a hand through his already untidy hair. As he did so, Joe noticed his arm had gotten caught in the length of the IV tubing between his hand and the bag hanging on the pole next to him. Before Joe could say anything, however, Ivers stood agitatedly. "I barely have any money left," he spat out. With that, he twisted around, forgetting about the IV pole. It fell over with a sharp crash, which was followed by a beat of silence as people craned to look in their direction. In this sudden quiet, Ivers let out a weary sigh, and said, "Why don't you two go back to dear little Emily and tell her the blackmail is over—I'm bone dry."


	10. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

"Blackmail?" Joe repeated in a low voice. He bent over to pick up the IV pole and set it down properly on its wheeled base. "Mr. Ivers, we're not here to get money from you. We only want answers."

"Answers?" Ivers looked between Frank and Joe. "What kind of answers?"

Frank, who had not moved, gestured to the seat Ivers had recently occupied. "Sit down first." He did, and Frank continued. "Tessa Russo asked us to find you."

"Tessa?" Ivers questioned, his voice soft. "Why?"

"She's worried about you," Joe supplied. "She wanted some advice on the Gemsun investment, but you'd already skipped town." Ivers hung his head, and Joe's eyes softened. "Why don't you tell us what's going on? We're not the police," he added. "We're amateur detectives—Frank and Joe Hardy. Ms. Russo hired us to ask you some questions."

Ivers was silent for such a long time that Joe thought he was going to clam up entirely, but suddenly he nodded vehemently. "I guess I owe Tessa that much."

"Right," Joe prompted him when he fell silent again. Ivers didn't take the hint, and Joe decided to ask some pointed questions. "All right. Who's Emily?"

"Emily Sturling," Ivers said automatically. "She's the head of Gemsun."

"And she's blackmailing you? Why?"

"She needs the money," Ivers said with a cynical tone.

"But why?" Joe demanded.

Ivers blew out a short breath. "A month ago, I found out about this piece of land that's up for sale in Mexico called Muyaxche. You see, I have reason to believe the land is valuable—rumor has it that there may be gold ore on the property. Nothing has been confirmed yet, but there is definite interest. I've been in the mining field a long time—opportunities like this only come once in a while."

"So you are trying to buy the land—and you've invested your money, along with your neighbors', to that end," Frank stated matter-of-factly. Ivers nodded. "Where does Emily come in?"

"She found out about the property, too," Ivers explained. "She put in a bid, and then she learned I was also interested. We don't get along, Emily and I. She bought the company I used to work for, RT Minerals, and absolutely gutted it. Thankfully, I retired not long after the takeover, but my colleagues didn't fare well."

"But how is she blackmailing you?" asked Joe.

"Oh, she found out something I did in my past—something I'm not proud of."

"Does this have to do with Bauxcom?" Frank crossed his arms on the table and watched Ivers carefully.

"Well, yes," he replied in a surprised voice. "That whole fiasco with the aluminum refinery. My name wasn't on that damning memo the inquest found, but I knew about the scheme. Like I said, I'm not proud of it, and I've tried to make amends since. I've made healthy contributions to international charities, and I don't live out of my means."

"Uh-huh," Joe muttered, thinking of the house in Rosehampton and the apartment in New York City. "So Emily Sturling found out you were vying for the same piece of land, and she blackmailed you into handing over your investment to her. Then why is your house up for sale?"

"I, uh, had to borrow a substantial amount from the bank in order to fund my bid. I thought I would be OK financially, but then I had this stroke a few days ago. I know it wasn't that serious now, but at the time I just panicked. I didn't want to leave my debts to my family. My daughter wasn't too pleased to learn about my financial condition on top of my medical issues, but she decided selling the Hampton property was probably for the best. She always wanted something cozier anyway."

"But what about Tessa, and your other neighbors? Not only did you hand over your money, you lost theirs," Joe said.

Ivers dropped his eyes. "I was going to go to Westchester to see Emily, and to beg her to see reason. We actually haven't lost the money yet. If she buys Muyaxche, she said she would give me a cut on the returns. My plan was to see her and haggle on a suitable percentage, but now I don't think I have the strength to fight with her. The docs say I had a mild stroke and that I'll recover with some rehabilitation. My left side is still a little numb, and my vision is blurry at times. My driver's license has been revoked, and so I'm basically at the tender mercies of my daughter. She definitely won't let me leave town in my condition."

"What do you mean—_if_ Emily buys Muyaxche…?" Frank remarked in a questioning tone.

"Well, I'm sure there are other bids for the place besides ours," Ivers rejoined. "Like I said, it's rumored to be very valuable. Opportunities like this are few and far between. I wouldn't be surprised if Gemsun is the top bidder, though. Emily will find a way to buy out the competition. She's good at that."

Joe caught Frank's disturbed look. "Actually, Mr. Ivers, Emily Sturling may have a bit of a problem. Did you not get a note advising you to reconsider your investment with Gemsun?"

"No," Ivers replied, looking confused. "What note?"

"Tessa Russo received one in the mail a few days ago, and she told us that the rest of the investors in your building did as well. It's anonymous, and it seems to suggest investing in Gemsun is not a good idea."

Ivers stood up slowly, his eyes troubled. "Maybe it was a scare tactic. But that worries me. How did this person know how to reach my neighbors?" He appeared to think something over in his mind, and then he gestured to the brothers to follow him as he made his way down the hall, remembering to wheel his IV pole with him. They climbed into the elevator along with two women in colorful scrubs, and got off with Ivers on the third floor. As he slowly ambled down the corridor, he resumed talking. "You said you are detectives, right?"

"That's right," Joe confirmed.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should offer your services to Emily. As much as I dislike her politics, my money is now tied to her success. She has to win that bid." Ivers paused, and stopped in front of a room. The brothers waited politely as Ivers entered and removed a briefcase from the tiny closet. "Here," he said, opening the case and handing a large manila envelope to Frank. "The group selling the property sent this to me just before I signed over my investment to Gemsun. It's an information package, and an invitation to go to Winchester University for a presentation on Muyaxche. I gather it will be quite a gala, with the potential for the highest bidder to buy the property immediately."

"And you'd like us to go on your behalf?" Frank inquired.

"On my behalf, on Tessa's behalf…yes. Find out who is trying to interfere with Emily's plans to buy this land."

"Do you know where we can find Emily Sturling?" Joe asked.

Ivers nodded. "The Gemsun head office is in New York." He gave the brothers the address, and then looked at his watch. "If you leave now, you could probably be there before the end of the working day. The gala is the day after tomorrow, so the sooner Emily knows about this, the better."

Frank and Joe exchanged a glance before Frank cleared his throat. "One more question, Mr. Ivers."

"Yes?"

"How do you know the land is worth something?"

Ivers raised his brows slightly and gave him a measured look. "Just a rumor I heard, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

Frowning, Ivers asked, "Why do you want to know?"

"I was wondering if perhaps you and Emily Sturling were tipped off by the same person. You two must have some solid proof if you're willing to risk your life savings, and if Emily is reverting to blackmail to raise funds," Frank pointed out.

Ivers let his face go slack. "I—no. I don't believe it."

"Mr. Ivers?" Joe prodded.

"This kid I used to work with at RT Minerals, John Honig, told me. You see, I used to do some prospecting on the side. It wasn't a secret. I even found a few nuggets—and sold them for a pretty penny. After RT was bought, John decided to go back to school. I only heard from him just over a month ago. He said he had gone down to Mexico on a university trip, and that he'd found some gold when he done some panning in a river on Muyaxche. He sent some samples to me—definitely gold. He said the landowner is completely clueless and plans to sell the property at a bargain price. I thought he was telling me in confidence, but he may have gotten in touch with the prospectors at Gemsun, too."

"Where can we find John Honig?"

"He's at Winchester U."

"The same place as the gala?" Frank asked.

"Yes." Ivers eyed them for a long moment before letting out a giant sigh. "Can I have your word that you won't go to the police about this?"

"Mr. Ivers, we can't—" Frank began.

"I'll just deny it, you realize," Ivers interrupted, walking over to his bed and easing himself down. "And so will Emily. The formal investigation will take too long, and the land will be sold by then. I'm not sure if you've been paying attention, but there are literally millions of dollars at stake here." He lifted his head and gave each Hardy a level stare. "All I ask is that you two do everything you can to ensure that the sale is a fair one. For my sake, and for Tessa's."

"Wow, no pressure, huh?" Joe commented in a sardonic tone as he and Frank left the hospital. " 'Millions of dollars at stake'," he repeated in a reasonable facsimile of Ivers's voice.

Frank looked at him openly. "Are we in over our heads here?"

Joe shook his head. "Ivers seems to have confidence in us."

"Yeah. But the question is—will Emily Sturling?"

"Let's get to New York to find out," Joe said simply.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

A couple of hours later, the Hardys found themselves once again the city. It took longer than Frank thought for him to maneuver through the afternoon traffic, and it wasn't until after four that they arrived at the office complex that housed Gemsun Inc.

"I'm glad we stopped at home before coming here," Joe remarked. "That lemon pie Aunt Gertrude made was divine, wasn't it? I must have had two slices while we were waiting to get on the Brooklyn Bridge."

"You did have two slices," Frank murmured with a smile.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy," Joe protested.

"I wasn't criticizing you," Frank said, still amused. "Just confirming your observation."

"Mom looked a little crestfallen when we told her we'd be staying in Westchester for a few days, huh?" Joe opened the passenger door of the van and stepped down.

Frank felt a little stab of guilt upon recalling Laura Hardy's carefully arranged features, and it took him a moment before he exited the van. His mother ought to have been used to the brothers' travels, but it was plain to Frank that she had hoped he would spend more time at home that summer as it was his last before going off to university. She made no comment, however, when Frank told her briefly about the case before quickly kissing her goodbye.

"She wasn't nearly as bad as Callie," Frank said softly as they made their way through the parking garage. His girlfriend, Callie Shaw, had clearly been disappointed when Frank called her to cancel their date for the evening. Still, he reflected, she had been rather gracious about it, especially after he'd agreed to make it up to her when he came back. Not for the first time, Frank wondered if he ought to envy Joe for his outlook on relationships. He often told Callie that she was his first love, but how many times would she forgive Frank when he placed detective work before her? They had argued about it in the past, but in the end, Callie had always stuck by him. Would she continue to do so, especially when they were heading off to different colleges in the fall?

Joe glanced over at him as though he was going to say whatever was on his mind, but he closed his mouth after a moment. Frank almost chuckled. Why was it that he and Joe could talk about the most complicated mysteries, but they rarely spoke about their feelings for the opposite gender. _It's a guy thing,_ Frank reasoned. _It's not manly to brood over one's girlfriend._

Frank gave himself a mental shake as they waited in front of the elevators. When it finally arrived, Frank got in and stared at the numbered buttons. "What floor did Ivers say again? Eleven?"

"Yep," Joe verified.

The eleventh floor was stylishly furnished with plush chairs and hardwood tables spaciously arranged before a large reception desk. Several eye-catching pictures of mineral ores hung on the neutral walls, and the floor was a slick surface of granite. The receptionist, a young woman in a navy suit, beckoned them over. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"We're Frank and Joe Hardy," Frank told her. "We'd like to see Emily Sturling. It's important."

The receptionist frowned. "What is this about? You don't have an appointment, do you?"

"No," Joe agreed, offering her one of his trademark grins. "Tell her we have some information—about Muyaxche."

"Oh," the woman sighed. "Are you looking to invest?"

"Perhaps," Joe said suggestively. "If she makes it worth our while," he added in a butter-smooth voice.

The receptionist smiled for a moment before pushing back her chair. "Stay here," she instructed, "and I'll get her."

"Thanks…Cheryl," Joe said, reading her name on the tag on her left lapel. "I'm Joe."

She smiled again and her heel clicks sounded for several seconds after she had disappeared from view. Frank turned to his brother with a questioning look. "What?" Joe asked innocently.

"You are nothing short of a mesmerist," Frank replied.

"There aren't too many who can resist Joe Hardy," Joe acknowledged.

Frank only shook his head. A few minutes later, Cheryl returned, looking chagrined. "Uh, she's already left," she said to them, though she only had eyes for Joe.

"She's gone to Westchester, right?" Joe asked, holding her gaze. Frank stood back, folded his arms, and watched his brother at work.

"Uh-huh. That's right. For that Muyaxche gala."

"Are you going, too?" Joe questioned.

She blushed. "Oh, no. It's by invitation only. I'm not important enough to earn a spot."

"Oh, that's not true," Joe countered. "I'm sure you're one very important girl. I mean, you're the one who keeps the personal info on all the investors, am I right?"

"It's all on a database on my computer, and I update it regularly," she said, nodding.

"What about potential investors?" Joe asked. "Do you keep personal information like that on file?"

She blushed even more furiously. "Are you trying to give me your number?"

Joe raised his brows provocatively, and plucked an information brochure from a stand nearby. As he began to write his number, Frank cleared his throat. "Cheryl, speaking about potential investors, has Ms. Sturling gone public about Muyaxche yet?"

Cheryl blinked as if seeing Frank for the first time. "No. Why would she? She hasn't bought it. As soon as she does, that will be the first thing she'll do. It'll boost our stocks, she said, which is good because—" Cheryl dropped her voice secretively in Joe's direction—"I have stocks in Gemsun."

"I'd like some too, then," Joe whispered back, winking.

Cheryl shrugged. "If it were up to me, I'd take your money. But, unfortunately, you'll need to talk to Ms. Sturling. She's in charge of the private investments."

"Cheryl," Frank broke in, trying to ignore the undue emphasis she had placed on the word _private_. "Can you tell me the name of the prospector here at Gemsun?"

Cheryl focused her eyes on Frank again. "Trevor Stevens?" she asked.

"That's right. Is he here?"

"No, he also left for Westchester this afternoon."

"Did he say if he was going to meet someone named John Honig? He's a prospector as well."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He never mentioned it to me." She leaned toward Joe conspiratorially as he handed her the precious sheet with his number. "But there was someone else here a few days ago to see Trevor. Real nice Asian guy, but a little intense. Said he was a prospector, too. He seemed to know all about Muyaxche."

Frank frowned, a troubled thought flitting through his mind. "Do you remember his name?"

"Ummm. I'm not sure. His last name started with a 'C', I think."

Frank searched his memory, trying to remember the name of the gentleman he'd met at Ivers's Rosehampton estate that morning. "Was it 'Chan', by any chance?"

Cheryl looked down at her datebook and then back into Joe's eyes. "Yes. That's it. Chan. Edward Chan."

"Hmmm," Frank murmured a little while later as they descended in the elevator.

"Indeed," Joe said. "I'd say we learned a lot here."

Frank arched one brow. "Like how easy it is to charm a receptionist into practically giving you the list of investors and their addresses?"

Joe shot him a dirty look. "Hey, at least we know it's possible."

"Hmmm," Frank grunted again. "I wouldn't be surprised if Chan managed to get that list from Cheryl."

"Me neither," Joe admitted. "But my big question is—why was Chan at Gemsun, and then at Ivers's place in Rosehampton?"

"I don't know, Joe," Frank answered. "But I have a sneaking suspicion we may see Chan again really soon." He gave his brother a determined look. "It's time for the Hardys to go to Winchester University."


	11. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Nancy munched on a buttered piece of toast, watching her new roommate as she attempted to fry some eggs. "Raya usually does the cooking," Daphne explained, catching Nancy's interested look. "I know. I know. It's supposed to be sunny-side up, but it looks more like scrambled."

"You said it," Nancy agreed.

"I miss Raya," Daphne said wistfully. "Did you find anything last night?" she asked. "You were up awfully late."

Nancy passed a hand over her eyes. She and Daphne had tried calling several of Raya's relatives and old friends in the evening, hoping someone had heard from the girl. No one had been particularly helpful. Everyone knew Raya had gone to Mexico and chalked up her silence merely to travel. Only Daphne, Nancy mused, seemed to be most concerned. 

After giving up on phone calls, they had grabbed a quick dinner at a restaurant on campus, and that was when Daphne had broached the subject of Nancy performing a thorough investigation of Raya's computer. The girl had wanted Nancy to skim through all of Raya's documents and programs. At first, Nancy had been a little reluctant, not wanting to invade Raya's privacy, but Daphne had been insistent. "If you were missing for a week and there was a clue on your computer, wouldn't you want your roommate to discover it?" she had pointed out. Daphne had gone on to say that she'd already looked through the documents, but maybe a pair of detective eyes would be better. 

Finally agreeing, Nancy had returned to Daphne's apartment alone while the collegiate had dashed off for her evening course. That was how the detective had found herself scanning through various virtual school-related folders and programs until the wee hours of the morning. Raya was a very organized person, Nancy had to admit. Her research files were arranged chronologically, and she had saved quite a few research journal articles to her hard drive. Also, all of Raya's e-mails to Daphne that she had written during her first trip were copied into her word processor—and, like Daphne had said, she and her roommate had corresponded every day.

Muyaxche sounded like an interesting archeological find, Nancy had noted. Raya had gone to great pains to describe its location and environs. The ruins she and her team had been excavating had obviously excited the girl a great deal, although she'd openly admitted that she had no idea what they had uncovered. 'A workshop, I would guess,' she had written. 'Nothing so spectacular as a temple, but at least it gives us some insight as to how the Mayans lived their everyday life. Not much has been documented about daily life. I'd like my research to focus on that.'

Raya had mentioned the name of her colleagues in those early e-mails. Nancy had written them down, but had not yet asked Daphne about them. Nancy had been so engrossed on the computer that she hadn't heard Daphne's return after her evening class. She hadn't even noticed how much time had passed until her eye had fallen on her travel alarm clock at two in the morning.

"I think so," Nancy said now to Daphne's question. "She mentioned a few people on the first Muyaxche trip—one in particular. Someone named Alex."

"Oh, Alexandros Leon," Daphne said, a dreamy look shifting across her face. She filled their plates with her egg creation and set the pan down in the sink. "He is this _hunk_ of a graduate student—why are you looking at me that way?"

"No reason," Nancy said with a laugh, digging into her eggs. "It's just that you sound like my friend Bess—that's totally something she would say."

"I don't know the whole story between Raya and Alex," Daphne continued. "But I think she likes him. It's too bad he didn't go down to Mexico on this trip."

"He didn't?" Nancy wondered. "Why?"

Daphne shrugged, putting her fork down. "I'm not sure. No, only John Honig and Professor King went this time—with Raya."

Nancy glanced at the names she'd copied. "So Professor Ramirez didn't go either."

Daphne shrugged again. "I guess not." She brightened slightly. "Do you think they have heard from Raya?"

"Maybe. I'll try and ask them today," Nancy told her. They breakfasted in relative silence for a few moments before Nancy broke it with a request. "Tell me more about Raya."

"Oh, we get along really well," Daphne began, pushing her plate away and grabbing a handful of grapes from a bowl on the table. "We've been roommates for the past year. I met her through my father—he became acquainted with her when he was here, helping to restructure the campus. She's studying Central and North American History, and she's trying to get a minor in Archeology. She's so smart!"

Nancy inwardly agreed. The papers she had read last night, though beyond her scope of knowledge, indicated Raya was an intelligent and driven person.

"And she's so genuine," Daphne went on. "I feel like I can talk to her about everything. She's been a great support for me, what with my family's problems and all. She gets it, you know? My father's Alzheimer's, my relationship with my brothers, our financial problems. I'm really missing her right now."

Nancy gave her an encouraging smile. "Hopefully, by the end of the day, we'll know where she is."

"I hope so," Daphne sighed. "I hope so."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Frank was the first of the brothers to wake—he usually was. It was a symptom of being a habitually light sleeper. To Frank's astonishment, however, a glance at the alarm clock near his bed revealed that it was past nine o'clock. Over the summer so far, he had been up near the crack of dawn. He smiled ruefully and surveyed his room. Perhaps the opulent nature of his surroundings had lulled him into a good night's sleep.

He and Joe had arrived in the small city of Westchester mid-evening the day before. The manila envelope that Martin Ivers had supplied them had gained them access to a gorgeous suite in the Palisades—an exclusive hotel-style residence in a secluded part of the Winchester University campus.

"The rich sure know how to live," Joe had commented when they had neared the building, which had been designed in the style of a Victorian mansion. The interior décor was equally impressive, with intricate wainscoting and tasteful wallpaper. The brothers' suite had two bedrooms that adjoined a large sitting area with wide windows overlooking a nearby park.

By the time they had unpacked and gone downstairs to eat, they'd learned that the large dining room was closed for the night. Although their suite had a kitchen, Joe had vehemently stated he was too hungry to waste time going grocery shopping and then returning to make a meal. As a result, the Hardys had gone to a campus bistro and, as they waited for their order, they'd begun to bounce ideas off one another.

"Why do you think we're on a university campus for this private venture?" Frank had wondered aloud at one point.

Joe had shrugged. "No idea. But, hey, didn't Martin Ivers say that his previous colleague, John something-or-other, goes to school here?"

"John Honig," Frank had said, nodding. "We should look him up while we're here." He'd paused for a moment, thinking. Finally, he had asked, "Do you think the university owns that land down in Mexico, and is putting it up for sale?"

"I don't know, Frank. How could a university _not _know it is sitting on a potential gold mine?"

Joe had stopped talking immediately the moment his food was served, and Frank had also dismissed thoughts of the case in order to enjoy his meal. He hadn't known just when he'd noticed the pair of girls at the table behind Joe, but for some reason his attention had been drawn to them more and more during their stay. In particular, it was the girl that had faced him that piqued his interest, but he couldn't figure out why. He was certain he'd never met her before—he wouldn't have easily forgotten a girl with red-gold hair and sparkling eyes—but some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her. The girls had looked as though they were having a serious conversation, and finally the red-haired one seemed to agree to something the other had said. After they had paid for their dinner, the girls appeared to have parted ways, and Frank had been no closer to remembering her identity.

He'd racked his brain all night after he and Joe had returned to their room, but to no avail.

_Odd_, he thought now as made his way over to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He wasn't sure why he was preoccupied with the girl's identity, but he had the impression that it was important.

"Well, what's our plan for today?" Joe asked, interrupting Frank's thoughts. He stuck his head into the open door as Frank towel-dried his face.

"We ought to introduce ourselves to Emily Sturling," Frank replied, thinking over the itinerary that had been included in the package. "I believe there is to be a networking brunch of some sort this morning."

As Joe readied himself, Frank took a closer look at the package Martin Ivers had provided them, as well as the collection of papers the front desk had given them when they had checked in. "This is a week dedicated to advances in mining technology," Frank said out loud. "There are several lectures going on all day, and the keynote speaker is giving his address tonight. However, according to the stuff Ivers gave us, tomorrow's gala is sponsored by the Department of History and Archeology."

"Huh," Joe grunted, reaching into his suitcase and pulling out a shirt. "Why would the History Department be involved in mining, and a land sale for that matter?"

"I don't know," Frank conceded. "What's even more interesting is that this land sale is not specifically mentioned in the mining week activities. It's listed only as 'End of Conference Gala'."

"So only a select group of people know that Muyaxche is up for sale," Joe stated.

"Well, let's find out."

Joe's prediction proved to be true. As the brothers made their way down to the exquisite dining room for the brunch buffet, they could hear snippets of conversation speculating on the nature of the gala. "It was tacked on to the end of our conference," one professor told Frank between bites of a melon. "Not that I'm complaining—sounds like it will be a glitzy affair."

"Do you know what it's for?" Frank asked in a neutral tone.

The professor smiled, reaching for a strawberry. "There's been some talk, but no one knows for sure. Something about a discovery the Archeology department has made."

Joe, in the meantime, managed to spot the famed Emily Sturling, and Frank excused himself from the professor to join his brother. Sturling was in her forties, with the demeanor of someone who was successful in business. Her suit was immaculate and her medium brown hair was perfectly coiffed. She also seemed to exude some nervous energy, and her pale eyes darted about as she took in the other guests.

"Emily Sturling?" Joe asked, extending his hand.

"Yes," she replied, flicking her eyes in their direction. She seemed a little confused, and Frank concluded that she had taken them for college students.

"We're Frank and Joe Hardy," Frank explained. "We're here on behalf of Martin Ivers."

"Oh, dear Martin," Sturling breathed. "I thought he was going to be here himself."

"He's been feeling under the weather," Frank informed her.

"Nothing too serious, I hope. When you see Martin again you must thank him for his generous contribution to Gemsun."

"I trust he will be richly rewarded for his _contribution_," Joe said with a hint of menace.

"Oh, I see. You're here to protect his investment, right?" Sturling smiled stiffly. "Rest assured, everything is going according to plan."

"Is it?" Frank questioned in a low voice. "We have reason to believe Edward Chan is trying to place a bid on Muyaxche, too."

Sturling's face froze for a moment before she recovered, taking a sip of her coffee. "Edward?" she asked. "No, that isn't his style. Besides, he can't."

"But you do know that all of Martin's investors have been warned about investing with you?"

Sturling eyed them carefully. "Yes. I'm sure that is Edward's doing. It doesn't matter, however. We issued a statement to restore investor confidence. Didn't you receive our release?" she asked pointedly.

"We were already traveling, I guess," Frank answered smoothly.

She nodded, looking distracted. "Well, I hope to see you two at the presentation tomorrow evening," she said, her eyes now scanning the room. "I'm sure we'll have a lot to celebrate afterward." With that, she strode away to engage another woman in conversation.

"Well," Joe drawled. "Apparently Emily Sturling doesn't seem to be too concerned about her investors pulling out. She's pretty confident that she's going to purchase Muyaxche."

"I wonder who her competitors are?" Frank wondered, turning to survey the area. Just by casual inspection, there was no way he could distinguish those in academia with those in industry. He and Joe lingered at the brunch table for a while as the crowd thinned considerably, and they were about to head back to their room when Frank caught a glimpse of a familiar face near the entrance of the dining room. "Look," he said urgently to Joe. "Isn't that Edward Chan?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "Uh-oh. I think he's about to duck out. Yep, there he goes. Should we follow him?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Frank murmured with a smile.


	12. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

After finishing her late breakfast, Nancy made a beeline from Daphne's apartment complex to the nearby History building. Alexandros Leon, Daphne had told her, had an office on the third floor. Nancy hoped he would be there, and not in class. Daphne had assured her that most of the department's classes were in the evening, so it was likely he would be in his office.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Daphne had asked as Nancy was leaving. "I have a study group, but I could cancel—"

"No," Nancy had said gently. "I'll talk to him."

"All right," Daphne had sighed. "Thanks."

"Just doing my job," Nancy had replied with a smile.

As she entered the building, Nancy paused a moment, thinking about the best strategy for questioning the graduate student. She made her way through the small crowd of students lingering around cozy chairs in the lobby, and was about to head toward the elevator when she felt someone brush past her. She turned in order to issue a reprimand, but the guy—a young Asian man with a determined look on his smooth face—merely kept going. Nancy watched as he ducked out a side door, glancing back furtively in her direction.

Nancy frowned, and then she suddenly became aware of a tingle between her shoulder blades, which was a sensation she experienced whenever someone was watching her. Glancing around, her gaze unexpectedly tangled with that of a guy standing near the corner of the student lounge. He was tall, she could see, standing a little over six feet, and terribly good looking, with a thick head of dark hair and the muscular build of a swimmer. She couldn't see the color of his eyes due to the distance, but he was definitely staring straight at her. Ordinarily Nancy would have chalked it down to an appreciative look, but there was something else there that she couldn't quite pinpoint. She had no explanation for it, but the guy drew her interest—she definitely had never met him before, but for some reason she _wanted_ to. 

She was about to go over and speak to him, furiously searching her mind for an adequate cover story, when she noticed he was joined by a tall, blond guy. Breaking eye contact with her, the first good-looking guy turned to give the other one his attention. Nancy frowned at herself, and spun around, trying to shake off the odd feeling that remained.

She reached out to press the button for the elevator, and when it came, she stepped in, just managing to catch the dark-haired guy's curious gaze again before the doors closed.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

"Damn it," Joe muttered, joining Frank. "Chan is a wily fellow, isn't he? I didn't think he had noticed us following him across campus, but I guess he did."

Frank blinked, and it was a while before he focused on his brother once more. Joe turned, trying to see what had caught Frank's interest, but all he saw were the closed doors of an elevator and a cluster of students standing next to a billboard filled with colorful announcements. "What is it?" Joe asked.

"What?" Frank said with a start, his brow furrowing suddenly.

It was Joe's turn to frown. "I think Chan slipped out that exit there," he said, indicating a heavy metal door close to the elevator. "Shall we go after him?"

Frank shrugged, his eyes still on the elevator door. "It's worth a shot, although I think he may be long gone by now."

_Long gone because you suddenly pulled up_, Joe thought worriedly. It wasn't like Frank to get easily sidetracked, Joe knew. A second later, his unease abated slightly. Frank looked like he was working on an idea. Joe understood his brother well enough to know that he must be on the verge of a breakthrough. He waited a moment for Frank to reveal his brain wave, but nothing was forthcoming.

"Well," Joe sighed finally, "let's give it a try." He walked over to the door and pushed it open, and was greeted by a small courtyard. Surrounding the little oasis were numerous buildings with even more doors—and most of them were open. Joe rubbed a fist into his palm. "He could be anywhere now," he said in a disgusted tone.

"True," Frank agreed unhelpfully. Joe was about to retort with a caustic remark when Frank continued. "But I think this is his original destination."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I don't think he knew we were following him until we got to this building. There were enough people across campus that we blended in, but the crowds definitely thinned as we came to this part of the grounds. I think he glanced back as he went through the entrance, and that's when he spotted us."

"OK," Joe said slowly. "So what's so special about this place? What is this place, anyway?"

Frank pulled out a campus map from his pocket and studied it for a moment. "It's the History building," he announced.

"The Department of History again," Joe observed. "Hey, is the gala supposed to take place here?"

"Nope," Frank told him. "It's being held at the Frasier Building, which houses a museum. I think it's nearby."

"So what did Chan want to do here?" Joe asked.

Frank shrugged and started back down the hall. Joe fell in stride with him, but was suddenly caught off-guard when Frank halted abruptly. "Hey, look at this," Frank murmured, looking at the billboard next to the elevator. The little crowd moved to one side, allowing the detectives to more closely scrutinize the posted flyers. " 'What we can learn from Muyaxche'," he read. " 'An adventure in Latin American history'. It's a lecture series, Joe, and it's to be given by a professor named Jorge Ramirez from the Department of History."

"I thought Muyaxche was a piece of land in Mexico rumored to have gold," Joe said. "I didn't think it had any historical value."

"There's definitely more to this story than we've been told," Frank stated. "I think we have some more digging to do."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Alexandros Leon's office was almost at the end of the hall on the third floor of the History building. Nancy knocked on the half-closed door, and was relieved when a kindly deep voice invited her in. A young man was staring at his computer when Nancy entered, allowing her to take in his features briefly without him becoming self-conscious. He had a striking facial profile, Nancy acknowledged. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties. His hair was black and curly, falling untidily over his tanned forehead and the collar of his shirt. His eyes were dark, and his prominent lips were pursed in concentration as his finished typing on the keyboard. He would definitely cut quite the picture in the dusty setting of an archeological dig, Nancy thought. Finally, with one last keystroke, he turned toward her, his helpful expression quickly turning into one of puzzlement. "Are you in my Methods of Archeology class?" he asked.

Nancy gave him a courteous smile. "No. My name is Nancy Drew, and you're Alexandros Leon, right?"

"You can call me Alex. How can I help you?"

Nancy paused for a moment, taking in Alex's office. It was quite small, having just enough room for a desk and a couple of chairs. Although most surfaces were covered with stacks of paper, there were a few items that belied Alex's scholarly activity. A well-worn shovel with a dent in the bottom stood quietly in the corner of the room, and at least two shelves were littered with various sized potsherds. Most of Alex's paperweights consisted of eye-catching knickknacks which Nancy presumed he had found on previous archeological digs. Returning her gaze to Alex, she said, "I'm looking for Raya Alvarez. I was wondering if you had heard from her recently."

Alex stared at Nancy as though that was the last thing he was expecting her to say. "Looking for Raya? Why? What's going on?"

"I'm an amateur detective," Nancy explained. "Raya's roommate, Daphne Miller, told me that she's been in Mexico for the last week."

"That's right. She's still there. She sent me an e-mail about a week ago, telling me that she had arrived."

"And you haven't heard from her since?" Nancy questioned.

"No." Alex looked at her shyly. "Raya is one of my students. We didn't—that is—we don't—"

"You don't correspond that often?" Nancy said diplomatically.

"We're just friends," Alex replied, a little lamely. "Can I ask why you're looking for her? Is she in some sort of trouble?"

"I don't know," Nancy admitted. "Daphne was a little worried when she hadn't heard from Raya."

"Oh, well I don't think it's that odd. Sure, Raya can be a little obsessive about sending e-mails, but I'm sure she's just working too hard and hasn't had the time to sit down to write yet."

"What makes you say that?"

"The team at Muyaxche is short-staffed right now. I was supposed to go on that trip, too," Alex told her, "but, unfortunately, I was held back." With that, he stood and limped around the desk. Nancy immediately saw that his left foot was in a plastic boot cast. "I broke it," he said, gesturing unnecessarily at the foot.

"How did you do that?" Nancy asked politely. She had noticed the crutches near the desk when she had entered earlier, but had decided not to make a comment unless he broached the subject.

He gave her a sheepish grin. "I'd like to say I injured it heroically, like falling down a previously hidden ramp leading to an important tomb." He shook his head. "But, nope, I had a biking accident about two weeks ago. I didn't even get a look at the car that hit me. I guess I'm lucky I got away with only this—even though I'll have wear this cast for another eight weeks. Boy, the drivers in this state are something else! Almost makes me wish I was back in my small Michigan hometown."

"Daphne told me Professor Ramirez also didn't go down to continue work on the dig."

"That's right. He's a history professor, and something of an expert on Central America. While he was originally excited by the potential of a historical finding, he didn't think it was worth his while to return for the second visit at this time."

"Just how big is the Department of Archeology?" Nancy asked.

"Well, we're quite small, actually. We're lumped in with the Department of History, and so, strictly speaking, there are only a handful of us who are pursuing pure careers in Archeology. Our department head is Professor Henry King—he's known for his work on the Iroquois Confederacy, especially the Seneca nation. I trained at Columbia, and I specifically came here to be under his tutelage."

Nancy frowned. "So you mainly worked on digs right here in New York?"

"That's right."

"Then the dig in Mexico—Muyaxche—that's completely new?"

"Yeah," Alex agreed, his eyes sparkling. "Professor King was unexpectedly invited to excavate Muyaxche at the end of the term. I guess he saw it as an opportunity to expand the department. We all went down—Professors King and Ramirez, Raya, myself, and John Honig. John is the other graduate student studying here." Alex leaned back against his desk. "We initially went to Muyaxche to do some preliminary work. I'd never really studied much Mayan history, so I found Professor Ramirez's insights quite helpful."

"And did you make any exciting finds?" Nancy asked. "Raya seemed particularly taken with the ruins of a workshop."

"Oh, she was. Unfortunately, she was the only one." He smiled ruefully. "It wasn't a terribly exhilarating discovery. John and I had visions of a temple, loaded with religious artifacts and booby-traps. I'm kidding," he added, grinning for Nancy's benefit. "Anyway, we decided to return home with only our initial data, with the plan of continuing excavation in the winter, when it's cooler. Whew! I never realized the jungle in summer could be so unpleasant."

"Then why the second trip so soon after the first?"

Alex frowned, sticking his hands into his pockets. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. The decision was made right around the time I had my accident, so I'm not sure why Henry changed his mind. Maybe he found something in the dig data." Alex's frown deepened slightly. "He never told me. You know what else is strange?" Alex murmured, leaning closer to Nancy. "I think he's back."

"Professor King?"

Alex nodded. "I thought I saw him a few days ago, but I didn't get a chance to talk to him. I haven't seen him in his office, either, and I've been giving his lectures—so I know he hasn't been to his classes."

"If he is indeed back, would it be usual for him to leave his students at a dig site? I mean, shouldn't he have to oversee the excavation at all times?"

"He would," Alex agreed. "He should. Maybe I'm mistaken. Let me give his secretary, Joanne, a call. She would know if he's here." He reached for the phone on his desk, just barely visible beneath a pile of folders. Nancy listened to the one-sided conversation, but it appeared as though the secretary was doing most of the talking. Alex seemed to be agreeing to what was being said, and finally he hung up the phone, looking dazed.

"Well?" Nancy prompted.

"Henry _is_ here. According to Joanne, he's been busy trying to organize this gala being put on by our department tomorrow night." Alex straightened up and snagged a dainty envelope near the phone. "Here," he exclaimed, holding it aloft. "I wasn't going to go, thinking it had more to do with some conference that's being held here this week—and on account of my bum leg—but now I'm curious. I gave my RSVP to Joanne just now."

"Why would Professor King return from his dig in Mexico to organize this event?" Nancy put forward.

"I don't know. Unless… Unless he made some sort of discovery down there. Maybe that's why Raya has been keeping Daphne out of the loop," he went on thoughtfully. "I guess it makes sense."

"But if it is a discovery about Muyaxche, don't you think you would have been informed?"

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "And Raya and John should be here, too."

"We have to talk to Professor King," Nancy said determinedly.

"Yeah, I know. I don't know where he is, though. I don't think anyone does. His secretary is the only one who can keep track of him, and even she doesn't know… It sounds like he'll be at that gala tomorrow. Joanne indicated that it was a very important event. That's why I said I would go. I think I have to get to the bottom of this, Nancy. Do you think that's a good idea?"

Nancy's mind was whirling. "You can certainly help. You can ask questions without raising too many suspicions. I'll see if I can sneak in with the catering crew, and I'll do my best to—"

Alex let out a little laugh. "Well, Nancy, it sounds like you've done this before."

Nancy shot him a defensive look. "I have a lot of experience—"

Alex continued to laugh. "I'm not questioning your methods. I was only going to suggest you attend as my guest, instead of going through all the trouble of getting hired as a part of the serving team."

"Oh. Well. That's very generous of you, Alex."

"My pleasure." He gave her another shy smile, and Nancy had the feeling the only reason he agreed to attend the party was so that he could learn about Raya. He had a faraway look on his face, as though he was only just now allowing himself to consider the fact that Raya may be missing.

"Just out of curiosity," Nancy said, trying to interrupt his thoughts, "where is this supposed gala to occur?"

"The Frasier Building," he replied, glancing down at the invitation. "It's the new annex to this old History building. We keep all the valuable artifacts there. Most of them are from our own digs right here in the Hudson River region, but from time to time we get outside exhibits to display. I don't believe we have any at the moment, however."

"Why keep the artifacts at the Frasier Building and not here?"

"It's a new building, and the security there is much better than in this old place, so we've moved our museum of Antiquities there. Frasier is also something of a student center, which means the museum must get twice the amount of visitors." He suddenly glanced at his watch, and stood up a little unsteadily. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry to be so abrupt, Nancy, but I should be heading out now. My office hours are over, and I have to get across campus to give a lecture. My roommate—who has a car—has graciously agreed to be my chauffeur while my foot is out of commission. He's probably already down there."

"Oh, I'm sorry to have kept you," Nancy said apologetically.

"Not at all. Actually, can I walk you out?" He grinned regretfully. "Although I'm afraid I'm doing more waddling than walking these days."

"Let me help you." Nancy handed him his crutches as he picked up his bag. It took a few minutes for Alex to gather the necessary papers from the unorganized quantity on his desk, especially when he seemingly had misplaced a stack of graded papers amidst the clutter. He joked a little about how he was actually quite meticulous when he was on a dig, to which Nancy gave him a wry smile. They both exited the little office shortly thereafter, and Alex locked it before they slowly headed down the corridor to the elevator. As they neared it, though, Nancy noticed a handwritten sign on the metal elevator doors. Out of Service, it read.

"That's strange," Nancy murmured. "It was working fine when I came up."

"Well, it's not working now," Alex groaned. "That means I'll have to go down three flights with my crutches. Do you mind holding my bag? Thanks."

"That's the only elevator, right?" Nancy inquired.

"Yep. C'mon. The stairs are over here." He led her further down the corridor. Nancy stepped in front of him to push open the door. The stairs were quite narrow and utilitarian, with gray concrete walls and treads highlighted underneath fluorescent lights. Alex started down the stairs gingerly, with Nancy following.

They had gone down maybe five steps before Nancy heard the door above them open. Before she could turn around to let the person pass, she felt a hand on her shoulder—shoving her hard down the stairs and into the flimsy-looking handrail!


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Nancy felt her feet skid on the concrete tread, and she fell forward, ramming her side hard into the banister. It was just pure luck that she only nudged Alex, because she definitely didn't want him falling down the stairs in his injured state. However, as she had directed her full weight onto the handrail, it took the brunt of her fall. It creaked ominously and gave a little jerk.

"Nancy!" cried Alex, whipping around.

Instinctively, Nancy reached for his shoulder, and he, in turn, grabbed a handful of her shirt until she regained her balance. A second later, Nancy glanced back up the stairs only to spot a man in a dark gray hooded jacket bolting out of the stairwell door.

"That guy pushed you!" Alex said in horror.

"Yeah," Nancy replied shortly, feeling a vague pain where she had rammed her chest. "Stay here. I'm going after him." She sucked in a deep breath and dashed up toward the door.

The hallway she and Alex had just left was quiet. Nancy glanced at the doors, but she knew it was possible for the guy to be in any of them. She had just about decided to try each and every one when she became aware of a soft _ding_ down the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the elevator door close. She dashed as fast as she could in order to stop it, but it shut when she was about ten feet away. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether she should run down the stairs to intercept the guy, but she had no idea at what floor he would disembark. Most likely he was heading for the exit, and there was no way she could fly down three flights in order to catch up with him.

With a silent groan, she made her way back to the stairs to join Alex. "Did you catch him?" he asked immediately.

She shook her head. "I didn't even get a look at him! Did you?"

"Nope. Sorry. Are you all right?"

She grimaced, rubbing her ribs. "Yeah, I think so. How about you?"

"No worse for wear."

"I have a feeling this was a set-up," Nancy said, still rubbing her side. "That elevator wasn't out of order at all. I think that guy wanted us to take the stairs."

"Take the stairs…so he could…" Alex trailed off, giving her a measured look. "How awful! Why would someone want to push you, Nancy?"

"Actually, it's a good thing, Alex. It means I'm onto something—if I only knew what!" she said grimly. "But I have a sneaking suspicion who might have been responsible."

"Who?" Alex asked, curious.

"I saw him earlier today." She paused for a moment, a rush of recognition suddenly coming over her. "And at dinner yesterday, too. He was sitting behind me! I think he may have even heard me talking to Daphne about Raya."

"Do you know who he is?"

Nancy sighed, looking into Alex's concerned eyes. "No, not yet. But don't worry—I don't know his name now, but I'll definitely make it my business to find out."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Frank and Joe slipped as quietly as possible into the small auditorium in the basement of the History building, but they still managed to disturb a few students who were sitting near the door. No one said anything to the brothers, but there were some under-the-breath grumbles as the Hardys squeezed past a few guys before they found two empty seats.

Professor Jorge Ramirez, a short man with a stocky build, was already full swing into his talk, and Frank could see that the majority of the audience seemed engrossed. As his eyes adjusted further to the darkness, he noticed the listeners seemed to represent all ages, which made Frank think the talk was not specifically directed toward his students, but to the general public. He gazed surreptitiously at the crowd, but he couldn't spot Edward Chan.

"He's not here," Joe muttered to him.

"Not yet," Frank whispered back. "Let's see if he does show."

Joe shrugged, an already bored look crossing his face. Frank smiled to himself, knowing that only a case would compel Joe to stay and listen to such a lecture. Frank, however, found Ramirez's lecture fascinating. Although he had missed a good portion already, Frank quickly became enthralled by the subject. Currently, the professor was discussing the daily life of the Mayans, especially the use of crafts and ornaments. Using a slide projector, he displayed several photographs onto the large screen behind him, pointing out unique characteristics of each item. "Of course," he concluded, pointing to a crudely fashioned doll, "some objects were mass-produced, as it were. I've already shown you pictorially how this was done, and tomorrow I'll show you some photographs of an ancient workshop from my recent visit to Muyaxche." He thanked the crowd, nodding at the applause, and then said he would be taking questions at the front.

"C'mon, Joe," Frank said. "Let's ask the good professor some questions of our own."

Joe shook his head. "I'm going to stay on the lookout for Edward Chan. He's not getting away this time."

"All right. If we get separated, I'll meet you back at our room at the Palisades."

"You got it," Joe agreed.

Frank left his seat and approached the small collection of people gathered around Professor Ramirez. Most of the questions were quite technical in nature, with some speculation on how the Mayans' own actions had led to their demise centuries ago. Frank noticed that Ramirez tended to favor the idea that a great environmental change had led to the civilization's ruin, not laying blame with the people themselves. A few people asked some questions about the workshop at Muyaxche, which piqued Frank's attention, but Ramirez expertly sidestepped their inquiries, ensuring they returned for the next day's lecture. As the group thinned to just a few, Frank glanced back toward his brother and noted with a start that Joe was heading for the far exit, a determined look on his face. He tried to catch Joe's eye, but he was out the door without looking in Frank's direction.

Inwardly shrugging, Frank turned back to Professor Ramirez, and found himself staring into his dark, kindly gaze. "Do you have a question?" Ramirez asked.

"I do. Several, actually," Frank conceded. "When were you at Muyaxche?"

"Over a month ago," he replied.

"Is there really gold on the site?"

"Gold?" Ramirez asked, startled. "What makes you say that?"

Frank frowned. "You don't know about the gold?"

"Look here, young man. Excavating is not all about gold and glory. It's a fairly painstaking process. I haven't been on many digs, but most of them have been more important from a scholarly point of view than for treasure-hunting."

"So you didn't find gold on Muyaxche?"

"I wasn't looking for it," Ramirez replied simply. "Why the interest, anyhow?"

Frank blinked, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. "So you don't know that Muyaxche is up for sale?"

"Up for sale?" Ramirez repeated. "No, I didn't know that. Well, that's a shame. I was hoping to return in the winter with the team. Are you trying to buy Muyaxche?"

Frank raised his brows. "My brother and I are looking into its sale," he said honestly. "Does the university own Muyaxche now?"

Ramirez shrugged. "I don't know. I thought some developer owned it, and approached our own Henry King here when some ruins were discovered during a survey. I was under the impression that it would be open to the university until the excavation was complete." He shrugged again. "And maybe it will be—if the new owner is so inclined."

"Who is Henry King?"

"Professor King is the head of the Archeology department at Winchester," Ramirez stated proudly. "He's the one who invited me to be a part of the dig team in the first place. If Muyaxche is up for sale, he would know."

"Do you know where I can find him?" Frank asked.

Ramirez frowned. "Actually, I think he's in Mexico right now. He and his team decided to make a second trip last week—although I don't know why. The jungle is so unpleasant at this time of year!"

"This team—is John Honig part of it, by any chance?"

Nodding, the professor gave Frank a sharp look. "That's right. Oh, I see what's going on. You're the one who sent me that e-mail, aren't you? I'd almost forgotten about it. My apologies."

Taken aback slightly, Frank shook his head. "I didn't send you an e-mail. Is someone looking for John Honig?"

Ramirez now looked thoroughly confused. "Yes. The guy who wrote to me said he was going to meet with me to talk about John. Wait, I think I have a copy here." Ramirez reached into his pocket and presently pulled out a piece of paper. "You're not Edward Chan, then?" he asked, reading off the page.

"Nope," Frank confirmed. "I'm Frank Hardy."

"Nice to meet you," the professor said automatically, and Frank got the sudden sense that the interview was over. "Have I answered all your questions?"

Frank gave him an easygoing smile. "You have, Professor. Sorry for the third degree. I was just a little surprised to hear that Muyaxche is an archeological site—especially since it is up for sale." He considered for a moment, and asked the man for the paper he held. "Professor, if either Edward Chan or John Honig gets in touch with you, can you let me know?" he asked, writing his name down. "I'm staying at the Palisades."

Ramirez merely shrugged. "I can't promise you that. I'm extremely busy. I have another lecture to give tomorrow."

Frank smiled again, trying to look contrite. "I understand. Thanks for your time, Professor." He took his leave, heading for the exit he'd seen Joe approach. An empty hallway lay beyond it, with a door leading outside at the end of it. Frank wandered down the hall, glancing into nearby classrooms, but discovered that they were all empty. Finally, opening the exit door, Frank scanned the small expanse of campus visible to him, but couldn't spot his brother anywhere. Sighing, he wondered where Joe had gotten to, and if he had tracked down the mysterious Edward Chan.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Joe knew Edward Chan had spotted him. They had locked eyes the instant he had walked into the room at the end of Ramirez's lecture, and then Chan was off again, speeding toward the nearest exit. Joe followed him outside, and almost lost him in a crowd of students spilling out from a tall stone building, but Joe just managed to spy Chan's glossy black hair disappearing into what Joe found out was the library.

Quickly scanning the library's lobby area, Joe decided that Chan must have headed for the stacks. Daunted by the shelves and shelves of books, Joe was about to choose an aisle at random when he realized the best strategy would be to wait for Chan to resurface. The main circulation desk was within the lobby, which made him think there would be no other exits to the library. With a grumble, Joe sat in a plastic-lined chair, picked up a student newspaper, and pretended to read.

Twenty minutes later, Chan hesitantly strolled out from his hiding place. Joe lowered the edge of his paper slowly, waiting for Chan to edge closer to him. As soon as Joe had him where he wanted him, he leapt up and got a firm hold on Chan's arm.

Chan gave a yelp and tried to free himself, but the sudden collective glare from nearby studying students was effective in subduing him. "What do you want?" he asked Joe in a low voice.

"I have some questions for you," Joe replied. He gestured toward a set of chairs near the main entrance, where the noise level was enough to carry on a conversation, and they each took a seat. "For starters, who are you?"

"I think you already know my name."

"I mean—who do you work for?"

Chan raised his brows. "I'm with the Prospectors of America."

"Are you trying to buy Muyaxche?"

"No! Of course not. I'm only interested in ensuring the minerals are extracted in an environmental and sustainable fashion."

Joe frowned. "So why did you warn off Emily Sturling's investors?"

Chan glared at him, clearly suspicious. "Because her company has never followed our recommendations. We've been tied up in a long legal battle for the past many months—to the point where her company is struggling to stay afloat. I thought perhaps we had curbed her ability to establish a new mine site, but she thwarted us by considering the Mexican land. Obviously you have a blatant disregard for the new mining practices—otherwise you wouldn't have invested with her."

It was Joe's turn to raise his brows. "I haven't invested with her. Martin Ivers has, and he asked us to look into his investment. In fact, my brother and I are detectives."

"Detectives?" Chan repeated in a curious tone. "Good, because I have a problem that needs solving. I think someone is out to get me."


	14. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

After repeatedly ensuring Alex that she was not suffering in the least from her close encounter, Nancy accompanied him to his friend's car. Before they parted ways, however, they did agree to meet each other at the Frasier building the next evening for the gala. Nancy watched as Alex expertly climbed into his friend's car with his crutches, and waved as he and his roommate drove off. She found herself standing on the front steps of the building for a few moments before she decided to head back inside. She had noted on the directory that Professor Henry King's office was on the second floor, and she was not going to leave without first trying to talk to him.

Joanne, King's secretary, was a stout woman in her forties with a hair color that owed more to a bottle than genetics. Despite the odd shade of burgundy on her short locks, she otherwise seemed quite put together, wearing a comfortable light sweater and matching long skirt. A pair of fashionable horn-rimmed glasses encased her brown eyes. She looked up with those eyes when Nancy stepped into her office.

"Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yes. My name is Nancy Drew, and I was wondering if I may speak to Professor King?"

Joanne touched her glasses briefly, frowning. "Are you a student?"

"A potential student," Nancy said evasively, deciding instantly that the truth would get her nowhere. "I was at the Oriental Institute—"

"In Chicago?" Joanne asked, clearly impressed.

"Right," Nancy agreed vaguely.

"The University of Chicago has such a fabulous Egyptian collection," Joanne said dreamily. "I've been there a few times."

"Yes. Anyway," Nancy continued, "I'm interested in meeting Professor King. I heard about his recent excavation in Mexico, and I was hoping I could get his insight on excavating in such a hot climate. I understand he is in Mexico right now—at the height of summer."

Joanne shifted in her seat. "Well, he was there. But he's returned for now."

"Oh, that's great," Nancy said. "Do you think I could meet him today?"

Joanne raised her chin slightly. "He's working on some sort of important presentation for tomorrow night, and that's been keeping him pretty busy. I can try and arrange a meeting for you after that. Would that be all right?"

Nancy gave her an apologetic look. "Unfortunately, I'm only in town for next couple of days. Are you sure I can't meet with him today?"

"No, I'm afraid that's impossible," Joanne replied, shaking her head. "In fact, he just called me not too long ago, asking me to make sure he didn't take on any commitments while he readied this presentation."

"Is he going to be speaking about Muyaxche?"

"I don't know. He's been quite secretive about it." Joanne smiled. "But then, he usually is."

"Hmmm," Nancy murmured, electing a different tactic. "Well, is there anyone I could talk to about Muyaxche?"

"Sure. In fact, Professor Jorge Ramirez visited the dig on the first trip. I think he's lecturing all day today, but he may be free tomorrow morning. Also, I suppose you could talk to Henry's students—Alex Leon or Raya Alvarez."

Nancy just managed to cover her surprise. "I've already spoken to Alex," she said slowly. "He told me Raya Alvarez was still in Mexico."

"Is she?" Joanne gave Nancy a confused look. "I thought she was back. Henry asked me to send a document to her a few days ago via the intra-campus mail."

"Have you seen Raya?"

"Actually, no." Joanne gave an uneasy chuckle. "I guess Henry is a little more scatterbrained with this presentation than I thought. I wonder if he wanted me to send that document to another student. Oh, dear. I hope I haven't made a mistake."

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Nancy assured her automatically, her mind a little lost in thought. "Do you happen to have John Honig's address?" Nancy asked, remembering the last person Raya had mentioned on the dig.

"John? Sure. But I don't think he's back from Mexico. Henry would have mentioned that." She checked her computer and wrote an address on a piece of paper before handing it to the detective.

Nancy was about to thank the secretary, but a sudden idea struck her. "By the way, is there any way I could attend tomorrow's presentation?" she asked out of curiosity, hoping to spare Alex the escort duty if she could—or to get an extra ticket for Daphne.

Joanne shook her head again. "It's by invitation only," she said. "Now that I think about it, I don't think it's a talk on archeology. I didn't recognize any of the people he had invited. I had automatically included our department among the invitees, but talking to Henry just now made me think I shouldn't have. I guess the guest list is already full. Sorry."

"That's all right," Nancy said graciously. "Hopefully I'll be able to extend my stay, and maybe I'll catch up with Professor King later."

"That sounds like a plan," Joanne approved. "Again, sorry I couldn't be more helpful. Take care."

Nancy smiled and left the office. "Actually, you helped a great deal," she muttered to herself, her thoughts already awhirl.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

"Out to get you?" Frank asked, regarding Edward Chan. He had been back at his room in the Palisades for about half-an-hour before Joe knocked and entered, with Chan in tow. Joe briefly explained how he had caught up with Chan, and now Frank found himself eyeing the prospector with curiosity. "Who?"

"Emily Sturling, I'm sure," Chan began. "Or, more specifically, someone who works for her. Somebody who isn't happy with my involvement in this whole affair."

"Have you been threatened?" Joe asked.

"Threatened? No, not exactly. Just a few _friendly_ misunderstandings, that's all," Chan said with bitterness. "Like my room here being unavailable, forcing me to stay in town instead of on campus. And no air in my truck tires this morning, making sure I missed most of the brunch—to prevent me from telling the investors what I know."

Frank tossed his brother an incredulous look. Frank could tell Joe also thought that Chan was overreacting. Nevertheless, he took the bait, and asked, "And what _do_ you know?"

"There's something wrong about this whole Muyaxche thing," Chan began, "but I can't figure out what it is."

"Does it have something to do with the fact that Muyaxche is an archeological site?" Frank wondered.

Chan's expression went from surprise to a grudging respect. "You talked to Professor Ramirez, didn't you? And found out I was planning on meeting him?"

"That's right."

"I was going to try and convince him to speak up on behalf of the dig—and not let the land become a mine site. I figure it's one way I can stop Emily Sturling—especially since her investors have their heads in the proverbial golden sand right now and have refused to pull their money out. I tried to talk to Martin Ivers yesterday at the hospital, but he refused to listen to me."

Frank frowned, exchanging another look with Joe. It was not their place to divulge Ivers's secret of blackmail, Frank knew. Instead, he said, "So you _are_ the one who sent out that warning to Emily Sturling's investors." Chan nodded but remained quiet. Frank shook his head a little. "So that plan didn't work, obviously. And your plan to get Ramirez on your side has hit a snag, too, because he doesn't know anything about the land being up for sale."

Chan shot him another surprised look. "What? But how is that possible?"

Shrugging, Frank perched himself on an armrest of one of the plush chairs in the brothers' hotel sitting room. "He suggested I talk to Henry King, who is apparently the guru of Archeology here at Winchester."

"King? I tried getting in touch with him, too, but he never got back to me."

"Maybe that's because he's in Mexico—according to what Ramirez told me."

Chan shifted away from Joe and started pacing the room. "No, he should be here. I have it on good authority that he's organizing tomorrow's gala."

"How did you learn about Muyaxche, Edward?" Frank questioned.

"From a fellow prospector," Chan replied evasively, "who would like to remain anonymous. His values coincide with those of my organization, thank goodness. He had gotten word from John Honig that there's gold on Muyaxche. What I can't figure out is how John knew about it. He's a prospector, too, and he used to work for Sturling before he left her company."

"I can answer that," Joe interjected. "He left the business and decided to go back to school. He's supposedly studying here at Winchester."

Chan stopped moving for a moment, appearing taken aback. "Really?"

"I think it's safe to assume John Honig was also on this trip to Muyaxche," Frank put in. "Ramirez gave me the impression that was how he knew John."

"So where's John now?" Chan wondered. "I tried to look him up last night, but I didn't have much luck." He glanced between Frank and Joe before resuming his pacing. "Have you guys had any success?"

Frank cleared his throat. "We were planning on getting in touch with him at some point," he said hesitantly.

Chan stood stock-still and glared at Frank. "Your brother said you two are detectives. Just _what_ are you investigating, then?"

"Truthfully?" Frank regarded Chan calmly. "Martin Ivers asked us to look into who might be sabotaging Emily Sturling's chance at purchasing Muyaxche. He has a lot of money tied up in her company, and he wants the sale to be fair."

There was a long silence before Chan clicked his tongue reproachfully. "I'm not sabotaging Sturling's chances. I'm only trying to make sure the land is excavated properly, with whatever leverage I have. It's my duty as a member of Prospectors of America." He turned swiftly and headed for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going." Without waiting for the Hardys to reply, he jerked open the door and stepped out.

Both Frank and Joe winced slightly as the door slammed shut, and then they turned to look at one another. "Well, what does this mean?" Joe wondered. "Have we solved the case?"

Frank shrugged uncertainly. "I guess so. We found out who's behind the warning to Gemsun's investors. All that's left is witnessing tomorrow's sale at the gala."

Joe sighed and stretched out on the sofa. "Well, I guess I'm not complaining. We did some nice detecting here, bro. I don't think we really earned Tessa Russo's money, but we did some nice work." He sat up suddenly, reaching for his cell phone. "Hey, maybe I should give her a call and let her know what we found."

"Are you thinking of talking to Tessa Russo, or Shelley?"

Joe shot his brother a wry look. "Well, I only have Shelley's number…"

Frank merely chuckled and went over to his laptop. He checked his e-mail, hoping for a message from Callie, but there was none. He started to compose a long apology to her, but in a sudden spurt of irritation, he deleted the message before it was completed. He wasn't sure why he was so annoyed. He could hear Joe describing their recent discoveries to Shelley over the phone, and he felt almost jealous. It had been a long time since Callie had taken an interest in his detective work. He knew she was proud of him for the way he helped others, but she was no longer someone with whom he could share the joys and frustrations of his work. Laura Hardy, on the other hand, had never seemed to grow tired of her husband's—or her sons'—occupation, even if she disapproved at times. Frank sat for a long moment, staring at the computer screen, until Joe's voice called him back to the present.

"So what's our plan for this evening, Frank?" Joe asked.

Frank blinked a few times, clearing his head. "Well, there is that keynote speaker tonight."

Joe groaned. "Not another lecture."

"This one comes with food," Frank pointed out.

"Food, eh?" Joe considered. "All right, I guess my brain can suffer at the expense of my stomach."

"Good ol' Joe," Frank muttered, grinning. "Get ready, then, and we'll head down soon."

Later that evening, after having an exquisite four-course meal that Joe had obviously enjoyed, Frank settled back to listen to the keynote speaker, but found he was unable to do so. Joe, he noted, looked like he was about to nod off, as did several others within his direct vision. Even Frank, whose attention span was almost legendary, was finding it hard to concentrate. He chalked it up to a good meal and a poor presentation. He felt his eyelids start to weigh down just a bit when he became aware of Joe's head starting to loll before it jerked upright suddenly. Joe shifted in his seat, as though looking around to see if anyone had caught his gaff.

Stiffening abruptly, Joe leaned over and hissed, "I can't believe I'm saying this, Frank, but I just saw Edward Chan being escorted from the room—by two guys who look like they mean business."

Frank rubbed his chin before standing up, glancing at the mouth of the dining hall where he just caught a glimpse of Chan's disappearing figure. "We'd better go after him," Frank declared, his momentary fatigue forgotten. "Maybe there's some truth to what he said after all. Maybe someone _is_ out to get him."


	15. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

The contrast from the dimly lit dining room to the outdoor light of the setting sun was not enough to obscure Joe's vision. He and Frank had come out a side entrance, along an isolated alley that separated the dining room from the rest of the Victorian-style hotel's rooms. He noticed immediately that Edward Chan was still in the custody of the two large men he'd spotted a few moments ago. Chan seemed to be trying to reason with the guys, but they were having none of it. Joe watched as the trio made their way down the alley, and he immediately sprinted in their direction when he heard Chan cry out, "Don't hit me!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank grab one guy while he took on the other. Though Joe's guy was slightly taller than himself, Joe was stockier and, as such, he was confident he'd win a physical fight, if it came to that. At the moment, Joe held his temper in check and merely glared at the guy after he'd gotten him to turn away from Chan. "What's going on here?" Joe demanded.

"Nothing," replied Frank's guy, a man with sandy hair. "We were just talking."

Unfortunately, Joe's guy, a man with a dark beard, didn't feel like talking. Instead, he pulled back and tried his best to land a punch on Joe's jaw.

Joe was ready for him. A quick right uppercut had him stumbling backwards. The sandy haired guy looked uncertainly between his friend and Joe, and reached down to pull his friend off the ground. The bearded guy tried to lunge at Joe again, but was prevented by his friend, who insisted they leave. Frank and Joe merely glowered at them as they backed away and then disappeared around a corner.

"Are you all right?" Frank asked, giving Chan a thorough once-over. "Are you hurt?"

"N—no. I don't think so. Thank you."

"Who were those guys?" Joe asked.

Chan ran a trembling hand through his hair. "One of them was Trevor Stevens, the prospector who works for Emily Sturling. I don't know who the other guy was. But, obviously, they were trying to keep me quiet—at Sturling's request."

"I guess she really doesn't like you, huh?" Joe muttered. "She must be playing for keeps."

"She is," Chan said breathlessly. "She can be ruthless when it comes to business."

"Do you want us to call the police?" Frank asked. "We can ID those two."

Chan shook his head. "No, there's no point. It would be our word against theirs. Besides, I have too much work to do. I don't want to spend the evening explaining everything to the cops. Technically, Emily isn't doing anything illegal by trying to buy land in Mexico for mine development. It's her ethics I worry about."

"Uh, Edward, it _is_ illegal to have you beaten up," Joe reminded him with an undertone of sarcasm.

" 'He said, she said'," Chan muttered. "And I wasn't hit, was I? Thanks to you."

Joe shrugged in Frank's direction. "All right, we'll leave it at that. Are you going back inside?"

Chan shook his head. "I should head back to my hotel."

"We'll walk you to your truck," Frank said in a voice that made it clear it was not a suggestion.

Chan nodded meekly and directed them to a parking lot that was some distance from the Palisades. "The other lots were full," he explained as they approached his vehicle. He glanced around furtively, as though trying to convince himself that Sturling's henchmen were nowhere in sight, and then climbed into his truck. "Thank you again. I will see you tomorrow. You can count on it." He turned the engine over, and waved at the Hardys before driving off.

Joe turned to his brother and was about to comment on Edward Chan's behavior when he noticed Frank's attention was drawn to a nearby building. "What's up?" Joe questioned.

"I don't know," Frank said, his voice sounding far away. "That's the Frasier Building, isn't it?" Joe looked over his shoulder and noted that Frank was right. The building sign was clearly visible to him. He peered into the long shadows cast by the low sun, trying to see what Frank saw, and was surprised when Frank declared, "I think someone is trying to break in!"

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

"So I was right," Daphne said in a quiet voice. "There _is_ something suspicious going on about Raya's disappearance."

"I didn't say that," Nancy hedged, tapping her fingers absently on the coffee table as she spoke. Daphne had returned from her late afternoon class minutes ago and, after taking a seat on her sofa, had not moved while Nancy had explained her findings so far. "Only that Professor King's secretary was under the impression that Raya was back. She admitted herself that she might have been mistaken."

Daphne furrowed her brow. "But do you think that message she sent in the mail was the threat I found?"

"Maybe. But I just can't imagine a professor sending a blatant threat like that to his student. I wonder if maybe someone 'hijacked' the envelope, so to speak. Does intra-campus mail get delivered to your door?"

Daphne shrugged. "No, it goes to our mailbox downstairs. But often our neighbors will grab everyone's mail and distribute it on the floor. I know it's not good for privacy, but we've never had a problem."

"Hmmm," Nancy murmured. "So the threat could have come in an intra-campus envelope that someone removed after it was stuck to your door?"

"Yeah, I guess. I could ask around about it, but I don't think anyone will remember. Intra-campus mail is so common here." Daphne sighed and was silent for a long moment. "And what about this whole thing about Professor King being back at Winchester?" she asked finally. "He wouldn't have left Raya in Mexico, would he?"

"I don't know," Nancy admitted. "No one seems to know where King is at the moment."

"C'mon, Nancy. You have to admit that it's strange. However, I think I agree with you that Professor King couldn't have sent the threat. What could he possibly gain from threatening Raya?"

"I don't know," Nancy repeated. "But something odd is definitely going on—and one person who can clarify things is Professor King...if I could only speak with him." She shook her head in frustration. "I also tried to look up John Honig, but no one answered at his door. Does he live alone?"

Daphne shrugged. "I'm not sure. Raya's never really mentioned him."

"Hmmm," Nancy murmured. "Well, it looks like I'll have to wait until tomorrow to get some more answers."

Daphne nodded reluctantly, and made her way to the kitchen. "Raya left me some of her home-cooking in frozen parcels," she called back. "Do you mind if that's what we have for dinner? She's an amazing cook, like I said. You should taste her paella."

"I don't mind at all," Nancy replied.

Daphne's assessment of Raya's cooking skills were accurate, Nancy acknowledged later, after eating every bite of the paella Daphne had served. They had eaten the meal in relative quiet, giving Nancy the opportunity to study the other girl. Daphne looked drawn and resigned, but she would startle toward the door every time she heard voices or keys jingling in the hall, as though expecting Raya to come through the entrance at any moment. After a while, Nancy's sympathies got the better of her. Although she had originally been planning on keeping her evening plans to herself, Daphne's obvious unease made her decide to confide her thoughts.

"Daphne," the girl detective said as they cleaned up, "I think I should make a trip to the Frasier Building tonight."

"Tonight?" she asked. "Why?"

"Well, if I was in charge of planning a large gala, I think I might be at the venue the night before, getting things ready. I'm hoping I'll run into Professor King there."

Daphne brightened considerably. "That's a great idea, Nancy. Are we going to go right now?"

"We?" Nancy repeated dubiously. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? I'm free this evening, and Raya's _my_ roommate, after all."

"I realize that. It's just…" Nancy trailed off, and then confessed what she had left out earlier in her account of the day. "Someone tried to push me down the stairs today."

"What?"

"I just don't want to put you in any danger," Nancy said soothingly. "After all, that's why your brother sent me here in the first place—to make sure you're safe."

Daphne took a long time to wipe the plate in her hands before putting it back in its place in a cupboard. "I realize that, Nancy," she said softly, "but I don't want you getting hurt either. Would this guy try something if I'm watching out for you?"

"I don't know," Nancy sighed. She considered for a moment before relenting. "All right. I guess there's no harm. I'd feel better if someone was with me, too."

The sun was sitting at a low angle on the horizon when the girls left Daphne's apartment. Nancy suggested that they stroll in a leisurely manner, as though they were out for an after-dinner walk on campus. At first, Daphne seemed quite uptight, but Nancy soon had her chatting away about various points of interest on their tour. Nancy listened with only half an ear, paying more attention to their surroundings. As attentive as she was to their environs, Nancy could not spot anyone who might have been following them. The people she passed didn't seem to pay the pair much attention, beyond the usual friendly glances. Nevertheless, she kept her guard up as they continued their walk.

"Here's the Frasier Building," Daphne announced as soon as they had passed the History building. "It's an extension of the old History place."

"Alex mentioned that," Nancy acknowledged.

She and Daphne stopped for a moment, surveying the scene. The Frasier Building was a two-storey addition, with a stone front and large windows around the perimeter. Nancy spied a sizeable skylight on the roof. The entrance was set back in the recess created by two oversized Doric columns, and it looked deserted.

"It doesn't look like anyone is here," Daphne commented. She tugged Nancy's arm. "But let's have a look, shall we?"

"Good idea," Nancy said with a grin. As they approached the front doors, Nancy suddenly realized that there was a security guard at the entrance. "Oh, are you closing?" Nancy asked sweetly, giving him her best flirtatious smile. "Would you mind terribly if we stuck our heads in? Professor King asked that we do some research on a Hudson River artifact housed here, but I didn't get a chance to make it down to the museum all day. I promise I'll only be a few minutes."

The guard, evidently a college student, shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, girls, but the Frasier had to close early tonight. Some special event tomorrow."

Nancy nodded. "That's right. Professor King is organizing it. Is he inside? Maybe I could talk to him for a moment. I'm sure he'd understand."

The guard shook his head again. "I'm not sure who's in there, but I have my orders. I can't let anybody through."

"Even if you accompany us?" Nancy tried.

The guard shifted uncomfortably, and then stood aside to look in the building. Nancy caught a glimpse of a well-lit room with various glass cases set along the walls. The only person she could see inside was a woman with a shock of ash-blonde hair. She appeared to be speaking on her cell phone, and she glared in Nancy's direction when she noticed that she was being watched.

"I'm sorry," the guard said again. "You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"The museum is closed tomorrow," Nancy told him mildly. "The gala, remember?"

He blinked at her, smiling ruefully. "That's right. No wonder you wanted to get in so badly. Is your project due tomorrow?"

"Yes," Nancy fibbed, hoping the guard would finally take pity on her.

Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Again, sorry, girls. Tough break."

Daphne and Nancy slowly walked down the steps and turned the corner of the building. "Well, that was a bust," Nancy said, discouraged.

Daphne shook her head as though trying to clear it. "Nancy," she said urgently, "I think I recognized that woman in there."

Nancy unconsciously glanced toward the windows, which were too high off the ground to peer into. "Really? Who was it?"

"I don't know," came Daphne's hesitant reply. "I can't remember where I've seen her before, but I feel like it's important."

"Would another look help?" Nancy asked, an idea forming in her head.

"Maybe."

Nancy led the way to the back of the building, to a shed she'd noticed on their approach. The door was open, and Nancy had observed a ladder tucked inside. Striding as though she had every right to be there, Nancy walked into the shed and hoisted the ladder out. Making sure the coast was clear, she carried the ladder to the nearest window and set it against the wall. "OK, Daphne. Now's your chance."

Daphne nodded, her face betraying the fact she thought they were going to be caught at any moment. Nancy held the ladder firmly in place as the other girl pulled herself up, rung by rung.

"Well?" Nancy prompted.

"I don't know. I can see her, but…I don't know."

"Is anyone else in there? Professor King? You have met him, right?"

Daphne nodded her head, her gaze still focused on the window. "Yeah, at one of my father's groundbreaking parties here. But I don't see him now. Just that woman."

Nancy blew out her breath in a deep sigh. She was about to suggest to Daphne that they should probably leave when her gaze fell on a dark-haired guy heading their way. At first she tried to dismiss his approach as innocent—just someone on his way home from class—when she suddenly realized he looked awfully familiar. It was the same guy she'd seen in the History building that morning! He was still some distance away, and moving slowly, which made Nancy think he hadn't seen her. _Where did he come from? I didn't think anyone was following us, _she thought. Aloud, she said in an insistent voice, "Time to go, Daphne."

Daphne didn't argue. She clambered down the ladder and leapt off of it instead of stepping on the last two rungs. She eyed Nancy questioningly.

"It's that guy—the one I saw earlier today. He's nearby. I don't think we've been spotted," Nancy added softly, "but I want you to head back along the courtyard, and duck into the History building if you can. I'll meet you at your place."

"What are you going to do?" Daphne asked, her voice a bit shrill.

"I'm going to turn the tables on this guy. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But—"

"Just go," Nancy urged.

Daphne left without a further word. Nancy watched her grimly as she did as she was told, almost running for the History building. When she had disappeared, Nancy grabbed the ladder and returned it to its proper place, and then sought refuge in the shed, standing in the shadows. _As soon as he comes around that corner_, she vowed, _I'll get him._

She expected him to appear in a matter of seconds, but after a few minutes had ticked by, she began to doubt herself. She hadn't gotten a great look at him, and he hadn't _really_ been heading in her direction, she noted. She waited a few more minutes, gazing cautiously about, and then decided she had overreacted. She stepped out of the shed, glancing about, but saw no one.

With a shrug, she moved closer to the building. She was about to head for the courtyard when a voice rang out, startling her.

"Hey, do you see anyone?"

Before she could even think to turn and run, the dark-haired guy came around the corner. Nancy sucked in her breath, readying herself, but the guy surprised her.

"There's no one here," he answered back, staring directly at Nancy.


	16. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Joe came around to the front of the building alone on Frank's suggestion that they split up. Before he could argue, Frank was already heading toward the back of the Frasier building. Joe heaved a frustrated sigh. His temperament was not relieved by the sight of the museum's guard, a skinny college guy about Frank's age. When Joe explained the situation to him, the guard blinked several times, looking extremely nervous about the possibility of a burglar. He insisted that he and Joe search together, but it didn't take Joe long to realize that they would probably cover more ground if he and the guard went their separate ways—especially since the guy started at almost every shadow.

Feeling a little exasperated, Joe called out to Frank to check on his progress. "Hey, do you see anyone?"

There was a lengthy pause before he heard his brother reply. The guard jerked in alarm at Frank's voice, and Joe knew then that he needed to put his foot down and investigate by himself. Accordingly, Joe turned to the guard and told him to go to the back of the building to meet up with Frank. "The guard is coming your way," Joe called out as the guy left him.

He heard Frank's assent, and then several moments later he could hear the guard and Frank talking between themselves. Alone now, Joe ignored them, searching the side of the building that was annexed onto the History building. He was about to give up his inspection when he noted something unusual.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Nancy stared at the dark-haired guy for a full second, completely caught off-guard. _Brown eyes_, she thought incongruously. _He's got brown eyes_. Pushing aside that observation, she opened her mouth to say something when all of a sudden she heard the first voice again, saying that the guard was coming his way. The guy signed wildly to her that she should leave quickly, and then he whirled on his heel and turned the corner, replying to the one who had spoken.

Nancy needed no other encouragement. She headed back along the edge of the building and around to the front, noting that the guard wasn't at his previous post. She was tempted to run into the building, but then she saw the blonde woman come out onto the steps. She seemed to be looking for someone. _Had the woman seen Daphne peering into the window? _Nancy wondered._ Did the woman think she and Daphne were burglars_? _Was that why the dark-haired guy had warned her off?_ At a loss, Nancy kept her face turned away, walking in a measured pace toward the entrance of the History building.

She was a little distance away from the Frasier building when she glanced over the squat wall of the courtyard and caught her breath. A blond guy was kneeling before a low window. He looked up briefly and caught her gaze, but immediately turned his attention back to his task. As she watched, the dark-haired guy joined him, and both seemed intent on getting the window open. She was just about to sidle closer in their direction when someone grabbed her shoulder.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Joe had come around to the courtyard when a sudden muffled noise caught his attention. He stopped and glanced into the low-lying window of the hall that connected the Frasier and History buildings. He was startled to see a man wearing a hooded sweatshirt in the interior hallway taking an axe to a doorknob. _Well, I have to give Frank credit_, Joe thought. _How did he spot this guy?_ Joe searched the wall for the crook's point of entry, honing in on a nearby window. Its frame looked worn, and the screen was askew.

All of a sudden, Joe's inner senses went on alert, telling him that he was being watched. He glanced up briefly and saw a girl with reddish-blonde hair looking in his direction, but another axe swing from inside focused his attention back to the matter at hand. He was contemplating how exactly the crook had managed to get through the window when Frank joined him.

"I think the guy got in through here," Joe said tightly.

"What guy?" Frank asked.

"_What guy?_" Joe parroted. "The guy you saw. The guy breaking in!"

"But I didn't—" Frank's protest fell silent when Joe gestured toward the man hacking away at the door inside.

"Give me a hand with the window," Joe instructed. "Where's the guard? I thought he was with you."

"He said he wanted to go back to the front of the building," Frank told him.

"Great," Joe breathed. He grunted as he tried to pull at the window frame, but it wouldn't budge. Frank tried next, and then they sat back, panting. "Why do I get the feeling that the thug didn't get in through here?" Joe murmured. He gave one last heave, which only succeeded in creating a large creaking sound. To Joe's chagrin, the noise alerted the burglar, who had by now opened the door and was in the process of removing some items. Meeting Joe's gaze from the shadows of his hoodie, the guy inside threw the stuff on the ground and started smashing it with his axe.

"I'll look for another point of entry," Frank told him. "Go get that guard again!"

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Nancy spun around, staring into the face of the Frasier Building's guard. "Miss, I don't think you should be here," he said warningly.

"Yes, but—" Nancy started, but she was suddenly interrupted by the whistle of a biker passing by. She dimly noted the biker's bright yellow suit and the logo emblazoned on the strut of the bike: Campus Security.

"Is this the guy that's been harassing you, miss?" the biker asked, his pale eyes sharp beneath his yellow helmet.

"What?" Nancy demanded, confused. "No."

At that moment, Daphne ran out of the History building to join the little group. "Oh, Nancy, thank Heaven you're OK."

"Daphne, what are you still doing here?" Nancy demanded. "I thought I told you—"

"I know," she said contritely. "But I called Campus Security instead. I thought you might be in danger, you know, especially after you were pushed today."

"So this isn't the guy who pushed you?" the biker asked, butting into their conversation. He looked at Nancy and pointed to the guard.

"No," said the guard and Nancy together, the guard with much more force.

The biker looked in Daphne's direction. "You're the one who made the call, then? I was told to get here as soon as possible because a woman was being harassed at this location."

"I wasn't being harassed," Nancy clarified. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry."

"What about this pushing incident?" the security biker asked.

"That was earlier today—and I think it was an accident."

"Nancy!" Daphne cried. "What—?"

The biker cut her off. "Ladies, I don't think we should stand here arguing. Now, the sun has set, so I think I should escort you two home. I think that's the safest course of action."

Nancy was about to protest and draw the security man's attention to the two guys outside the Frasier Building's window when she glanced in that direction and noticed no one was there. She blinked, thoroughly puzzled. Daphne was nodding vigorously to the biker's suggestion, and Nancy let herself be pulled along, her mind in turmoil.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Frank ran back along the rear of the building, wondering if the girl was still there. Fortunately, he couldn't spot her. He was glad she'd heeded his warning. He was sure she didn't want to be questioned, especially with a _real_ burglar inside. _That was certainly unexpected_, Frank thought to himself. He briefly wondered if she had any connection with the crook, but he put it out of his head, instead looking for a place where the man had broken in. He jogged around the perimeter, but couldn't see how the man had entered the building. The only door he passed was securely locked, and the windows were too high to access.

Minutes earlier, he'd seen the red-haired girl removing a ladder from a nearby shed to get to a window—that action had been the one that made him think someone was trying to break in. However, as he had neared the girls, he had realized they were only using it to peer inside the building. He'd done his best to give them enough time to get away—it was only a matter of time before someone else, like the guard, would have found them— but it had taken a face-to-face encounter with the red-haired one to get her to leave. He wanted desperately to talk to her, but he was prevented from doing so by the inopportune approach of the young museum guard. And now he had to deal with the discovery of an axe-wielding vandal in the building!

"Frank!" He shook his head, trying to clear it. It was Joe's voice. Frank turned the corner, and found Joe standing near the front of the building. "Any luck?" Joe asked.

Frank shook his head. "I don't know how that guy got in. Where's the guard?"

"I don't know. He was—oh, there he is." Joe pointed in the direction of the History building, and Frank observed the guard slowly making his way toward them. He glanced over his shoulder once or twice, and Frank drew in a breath when he saw what drew the guard's interest. Frank could just make out the red-haired girl in the company of her darker-haired friend being ushered across the campus grounds by a biker wearing all yellow. Before he could even comprehend that scene, Joe had dashed up to the guard and started gesturing toward the Frasier building. The guard swore loudly and ran back to his post.

"I think it's an inside job," Frank put in, following the guard. "Nothing about the exterior seems amiss."

The guard ignored him and rushed through the entrance. Frank and Joe were about to follow him when a blonde woman joined them. The guard explained the situation tersely, and a look of concern passed over her face. "You'd better call the campus police," she told the guard.

"We can help," Joe offered. "He's in the wing next to the courtyard. My brother and I can—"

"No," said the woman. "If he's got an axe, he could be dangerous. Stay here until the police get here." She stepped away from them, out of earshot, and began talking on her cell phone.

Frank exchanged a helpless shrug with his brother, and waited. It took several long minutes before a Winchester campus squad car pulled up. The campus security people dashed inside after briefly hearing the story, strictly forbidding the Hardys from entering the building. Soon, another car pulled up, as well as a Westchester police car. By that time, Frank had learned that the burglar was at large, and that the police were looking for who might have had an inventory for the room that was hit. Frank sighed upon hearing the news. He was sure he and Joe would have been able to apprehend the goon if they'd been given the chance earlier, but he wisely held his opinion to himself.

After he and Joe had given their statements to the police, including a hazy description of the suspect, the brothers headed back for their room at the Palisades. As they walked across the large expanse of lawn, Frank could feel Joe giving him a few sidelong glances.

"What is it?" Frank asked.

Joe looked like he was expecting Frank to have already figured out who was behind the break-in at the Frasier building, but when Frank kept quiet, he raised his brows a little. "Nothing," Joe said finally. "Just, uh, wondering if we closed our case a little prematurely."

"I think we may have," Frank agreed.

"Does that mean I get a free pass out of tomorrow's lectures?"

Frank laughed in spite of himself. "Good ol' Joe."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

The biker with Campus Security walked Nancy and Daphne all the way home to their apartment door before bidding them goodbye. As a result, throughout the journey, Nancy was deliberately vague about what had transpired behind the Frasier Building.

"OK, Nancy," Daphne said as soon as she had closed and locked her apartment door behind them. "Out with it. What's going on?"

Nancy sank into the sofa, her thoughts still piling on top of each other. "Daphne, I—I don't know."

"Were we followed?" Daphne asked pointedly.

"No." Nancy shook her head. "I didn't see the guy on our way to the Frasier Building, or on the way back. He just kind of—showed up. I don't think he's the one who pushed me, either, but…I can't shake the feeling that he's somehow involved in what's going on."

"Well, did you confront him? Did you get a name?"

"No," Nancy replied. "He took off before I could ask him anything, and then that guy from campus security all but prevented me from going after him," she added, aware that she was stretching the truth. However, she couldn't understand what exactly had transpired, and letting Daphne know she was completely stumped wouldn't look good. The dark-haired guy had purposefully let her go, and she still wasn't sure why. She described him to Daphne, but Daphne didn't seem to recognize him either.

"You know what worries me?" Daphne murmured after a while. She got up from her beanbag and went into the kitchen. Nancy could hear her rummaging in the cupboards, and she returned with a bag of chips. "If he wasn't the guy who pushed you," she continued, taking her seat once more, "then there's someone else out there who knows about you."

Nancy's mind flashed back to the times she'd seen the dark-haired guy, and realized he'd always been with that same blond guy. _Is the dark-haired guy trying to protect me from the blond guy?_ she wondered, biting into a chip. She felt the frown tug at her brows. None of it made any sense, but tomorrow she was going to get some answers.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Back in their room at the Palisades, Joe stepped out of the shower and gave a perfunctory glance toward the screen of Frank's laptop before letting out a low chuckle and heading into his room to dress. "Trust you to use your computer keep up with world news when you have some downtime," he called out with some amusement.

Frank shot him a glare when he re-entered the living room, firmly flipping the screen down. "I can guess what _you'd_ rather be looking at."

"The mystery here is why _you_ never look at such things." Frank continued to eye him, but refused to be baited. Joe shrugged his shoulders and flicked on the TV. "Actually, Frank," Joe continued after a few moments, "sometimes _you_ are a complete mystery to me. I didn't know you had a subscription to the Chicago Tribune."

"I don't," came his rejoinder.

"Then why are you looking through their on-line archives?" There was a moment of silence before Joe turned his attention from the TV to his brother, noticing with fascination that Frank's cheeks and ears were starting to turn red.

"When did you become so observant?" Frank asked evasively.

Joe shook his head. "Oh, I don't know," he replied flippantly. "I'd like to think I picked up the _useful _skill of _observation_ when we decided we wanted to be detectives."

There was a beat of silence, and then Frank said, "I hacked into the site."

"Yeah, I figured. You aren't answering my question, Frank. Why?"

Frank sighed and flipped up the screen quickly before quitting the browser, thus curtailing Joe's further inspection. "I can't really say, Joe. It may have something to do with this case, but I'm not sure."

"And you don't want to share your suspicions with me?"

"They're not really suspicions. I…I think…It's nothing."

"Does it have something to do with the fact that you didn't mention to the police that you'd seen that guy trying to break into the Frasier Building from outside?"

Frank raised his brows. "I don't think he broke in from outside. I think he managed to slip in through the front door when no one was around, and that's how he got into that room."

Joe mimicked his brother by lifting his own brows. "Then what did you see back there, after we'd said goodbye to Chan?"

Joe was surprised to see a scowl cross Frank's face. It wasn't a look he saw often, and he didn't know what to make of it. Frank seemed to be searching for an adequate response to his question, and finally he said, "I don't know."

"It's not like you to get flustered, you know," Joe commented in a neutral voice, deciding not to push him.

"I'm not flustered! I just don't want to voice a thought that's so…nebulous, OK?"

"OK, Frank. But when your thought becomes more concrete—as most of your thoughts usually do—don't forget to tell me."

"I won't."


	17. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

Nancy found Professor Jorge Ramirez in his office the next morning. He smiled at her when she knocked on his door and introduced herself, but his smile slipped when she informed him she hadn't come to ask him some questions about his lecture, but rather that she had some specific questions about the Muyaxche dig.

"Hey, I was already questioned about Muyaxche by a young man yesterday," Ramirez said blithely. "He gave me the impression that he was interested in buying the land. I didn't realize it was up for sale! Are you looking to invest, too? Ordinarily I wouldn't like to waste my time being quizzed again, but you're much prettier."

An alarm bell went off in Nancy's mind, effectively suppressing her blush. "Muyaxche is up for sale?"

Ramirez nodded. "I guess I'm not the only one who didn't know."

Nancy cleared her throat. "Could you describe this guy to me? I'm not an investor," she added. She considered quickly, deciding to tell him the truth. From her e-mails, Raya had obviously had a lot of respect for him, and Nancy knew if she wanted any more info about Muyaxche, it would have to come from Professor Ramirez. "I'm a detective, and I may need to question this person."

"A detective, eh?" Ramirez said, leaning back in his chair.

Nancy knew this was veiled challenge to prove her talent. She had long ago learned that a simple demonstration of observation was enough to win over those who were suspicious of her. She sighed inwardly, and then gestured at his office. "You are a well-loved professor, liked by your students. In fact, you have probably just returned from a tutorial. You're not fond of the computer as a teaching tool. You've probably been back from Muyaxche for over a month, and I think you've recovered from your mild case of diarrhea that you likely contracted in Mexico."

Ramirez's mouth fell open. "How did you know all that?"

Nancy shrugged. "At the risk of plagiarizing, it was elemental. You have several 'Voted Best Prof' placards on your wall. It's fairly late in the morning, and I know from Joanne that you didn't have any formal classes scheduled earlier. However, your fingernails are covered in chalk—you must have come from a tutorial. And since you use chalk, you likely hadn't used the computer for any demonstrations. I reckon writing historical details on the blackboard is much more effective for you. As for being back for a month, you have a noticeable tan around your head and neck that's just now starting to fade. I guessed the timeline from looking at that photo on the wall there." Nancy pointed to a picture tacked on the wall that showed Ramirez, as well as Raya and Alex and two other people, standing in the foreground of a very green jungle. "It looks as though it was taken when you first arrived in Mexico. As for the diarrhea, I can see that you've lost weight compared to that recent photo. Montezuma's revenge is not an unlikely cause for your condition."

"Wow." He continued to lean in his chair, but a look of outright respect had replaced the one of incredulity. "That's mighty impressive, Nancy Drew. But you look so young. Do you go to Winchester?"

"No, I don't," Nancy replied. "I'm actually here because I was asked to look into Raya Alvarez's disappearance."

Ramirez frowned. "What do you mean, her disappearance?"

"Apparently, she went back to Mexico last week, but no one has heard from her since. I know Professor King was there last week, too, but he's returned—without Raya."

Ramirez looked shocked. "I thought Henry was still in Mexico. I told myself that it was so strange he went down again in the summer—especially after I'd been ill and we agreed to wait until the winter."

"I've spoken to a few people who suggest Professor King is back on campus."

"Well, that's news to me," Ramirez said. "Maybe you should talk to him."

Nancy smiled wryly. "Believe me, I've tried. He's unavailable."

Ramirez frowned. "I hope Raya is OK. She's an excellent student, very diligent. I can't imagine that anything has happened to her."

"Professor, you mentioned that Muyaxche is up for sale. Who is selling it, and who wants to buy it?"

Shrugging, Ramirez looked as though he was going to claim ignorance when suddenly Joanne, King's secretary, burst into the room. "Oh, Jorge, did you hear the news?" she asked urgently, her voice trembling.

"What news?" Ramirez asked, standing quickly. "What's wrong?"

"Your slides and research notes about Muyaxche," she said breathlessly. "They've been destroyed!"

"What?" roared Ramirez. "What happened?"

"There was a break-in at the Frasier last night," Joanne told him. "The room where you stored your items for today's lecture on Muyaxche was ruined."

Ramirez was out the door in a flash, his short legs propelling him to the elevator. When it didn't come immediately, he took the stairs, his body moving in a blur. Nancy followed, her thoughts coming too fast for her to process. Together, she, Professor Ramirez, and Joanne dashed across the courtyard and to the Frasier building. A police officer stood at the entrance, looking stern.

"You have to let me through," Ramirez pleaded. "My research was in the room that was burgled."

The officer glared at the three of them before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't let anyone in. There are some precious items here in the museum, and we can't take chances."

"But I'm a professor here," Ramirez almost shouted.

"Do you have any proof?"

"Proof?" he burbled. "Just ask anyone. I'm Professor Jorge Ramirez. I teach Central American History."

The officer merely shook his head again. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Ramirez turned to Joanne, a prominent glower on his face. "How did you know about the crime?" he asked.

"There was a message from Henry on my answering machine," Joanne stuttered. "He'd gone in early to set up for this gala he's holding at the Frasier tonight. He said a series of rooms in the basement had been hit. He recognized your slide projector and said it had been smashed on the floor."

"And my research papers?"

Joanne shook her head. "He said he had looked for them, but they were gone."

Ramirez groaned. "Where's Henry now? Maybe he can let me in."

"I don't know," Joanne admitted. "I tried reaching him, but I couldn't."

Ramirez drew a large breath, and looked helplessly at the building again. Nancy cleared her throat pointedly, and Ramirez turned to her.

"Professor," she began, "I think I may know who's responsible for this."

"You do? Who?"

"I don't know his name, but I'm close to finding out. If I learn anything about this crime, I'll let you know."

Ramirez nodded, running a hand through his short black hair. Nancy considered asking him a few more questions about Muyaxche, but she felt it would be a waste of time. His mind was obviously on other matters.

Nancy was about to take her leave when she remembered what they had discussed when she had first entered the office. "Oh, one more thing," Nancy murmured. "I had asked you for the description of that guy, remember? The investor?"

"What?" Ramirez frowned, looking confused.

"It would help my investigation," Nancy added.

"Right. Let's see," he said, obviously trying to concentrate. "He had written down his name for me, but I got coffee on the paper and threw it out. Ah, he had brown hair and eyes, and was on the tall side, but he looked fairly average otherwise. About your age. He said he's staying at the Palisades." He quirked his lips into an apologetic smile. "Sorry I can't recall more. Does that little bit help?"

"Actually, that helps a lot." Nancy hoped her tone didn't betray her excitement. The description sounded like the dark-haired guy she'd seen the day before! _This guy is definitely connected to this case_, she said to herself. Aloud, she said, "Thank you for your time."

"I hope you get to the bottom of this, Nancy, because it seems as though anything to do with Muyaxche has suddenly gone all wrong."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Frank awoke late again the next morning. Cursing his internal alarm clock, he padded over to his laptop. He checked the Winchester University website thoroughly, looking for any reference for what had occurred at the Frasier Building the night before, but found nothing. Interestingly, he also found very little mention about the gala to be held at the Frasier that night. Cross-referencing with other events that had taken place at the museum, Frank found the lack of publicity decidedly odd.

Joe stumbled into the room, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Thought I heard you get up," he mumbled.

Frank explained his suspicions, but Joe wasn't impressed. "Obviously Muyaxche must be a private sale," he said. "The owner is only using the Frasier Building to host the event. Guess it's not meant to be a very public affair."

"Maybe," Frank said slowly. "And what about this burglary that just happened to occur the night before the gala?" Frank wondered. "I'm willing to bet the break-in has something to do with tonight's party."

Joe nodded. "I'm thinking the same thing. I wonder if someone else is trying to prevent its sale?"

"But who?" Frank asked, puzzled.

"I think that's up to us to figure out," Joe told him. "Let's head over to the Frasier Building—after breakfast."

Frank smiled. "Sounds good to me."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Nancy made her way to the Palisades, going through and rejecting various cover stories as she walked. She had been surprised to learn that the Palisades was not a dorm at all, but fairly luxurious hotel on campus, reserved primarily for persons of interest to Winchester. The dark-haired guy looked about her age but, given where he was staying, Nancy suspected he wasn't a student at the university.

She walked into the lobby and over to the receptionist's desk. A young woman, smartly dressed in a non-obtrusive uniform, greeted her. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Nancy began. "Oh, I'm so embarrassed. I don't know how to tell you this."

"What's wrong?" asked the receptionist.

"You see, I'm a campus tour guide. I was asked by this guy to give him a tour today of Winchester, but I've lost his contact info. I do know that he's staying here, though." Nancy lowered her voice. "He told me his family is pretty rich, and he's thinking of becoming a benefactor if he decides to study here—I guess that's how he got a room in this place." The receptionist nodded, and Nancy continued. "Oh, shame on me for forgetting his name! I could just kick myself. I'd hate to be the reason Winchester loses out on such an opportunity. Do you think you can help?"

The receptionist nodded. "We don't get too many college-aged people staying here. I think I know who you're talking about. His name is Joe Hardy. He's quite the looker, isn't he?"

"Right," Nancy agreed. The name _Joe Hardy_ wasn't ringing any bells, but she filed it away.

"He's very friendly. Always has nice things to say to me whenever he passes by." She looked at Nancy. "He went into the dining room a while ago. Maybe you can meet him there?"

"Good idea," Nancy murmured. "Thanks." Nancy backed away from the desk and moved over to the dining area. Thankfully, the entrance was down a little hall, out of sight of the receptionist. At the end of the hall, there was a small empty sitting area nestled around a fireplace. Nancy sat in one of the armchairs, reaching for a neglected newspaper on a side table. She hadn't expected the guy to be here, but now she had the opportunity to tail him, and she wasn't going to pass that up.

She pretended to read for a good ten minutes before she saw the blond guy—the same one she'd seen yesterday with the dark-haired guy—coming out of the dining room. Nancy frowned as he passed out of her line of vision. _What's _he_ doing here?_ she wondered. She took half a second to consider whether she should wait for the dark-haired guy, but decided against it. The fact that blond guy was also here at the Palisades puzzled Nancy, and she instantly decided it was worthwhile following him. She immediately reached for her bag to pull out a billowy long-sleeved shirt and a nondescript ball cap. After shrugging into the dark shirt, she stuffed her hair underneath the hat with nimble fingers, hoping the makeshift disguise would be enough for the receptionist.

Nancy quickly strode to the main lobby again and leaned against a wall with her newspaper, trying to stay out the receptionist's view. The guy, she noticed, was saying something amusing to the receptionist. As he stepped away toward the elevators, Nancy noticed the lingering gaze the receptionist gave him, eyeing him until he stepped inside the elevator. Nancy watched as it went up to the fourth floor and stopped. As it started to make its way down again, Nancy made a beeline for the stairs, keeping her head low so she couldn't make eye contact with the receptionist. Once she reached the stairs, she yanked open the door and took the steps by twos.

A little out of breath, she reached the fourth floor. She stopped for a moment, going through her options. She opened the door leading into the hallway, looking around carefully. No one was about. She put her ear to the nearest suite door, but couldn't hear anything. She repeated her actions on a second, and then a third door. When she reached a fourth door, she froze. She could hear a voice hear distinctly through the door. "All right, are you ready? Let's go."

Nancy sprinted back to the safety of the stairwell, hearing the murmur of voices down the hall. She slowly cracked open the stairway door and peeked out. She could see the blond guy locking the door with his key. He seemed to be talking to someone who had already gone around a corner, and then he, too, disappeared from sight. Presently, Nancy heard the _ding_ of the arriving elevator, and their voices faded completely.

Nancy waited by the stairs for several long minutes before deciding it was safe to move. She slowly made her way to the room in question, and dug out her lock pick from her pocket. After a few seconds of struggle, she felt a satisfying click, and the door swung open.

Nancy managed to get a cursory sweep of the room and was just about to turn on the nearby laptop when she heard a noise from behind her.


	18. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

Joe stopped by the reception desk to flash the receptionist a large grin. She returned it promptly, even though she was now busy with another guest. Joe was about to continue toward the front entrance when he noticed Frank had pulled up. "Something wrong?" Joe asked, his eyes straying to the receptionist as the guest moved on.

"I'm going back upstairs," said his brother. "Left my wallet."

"Wait. I'll come with you," Joe called out, stopping to wink at the receptionist.

"I'm taking the stairs," Frank warned.

The receptionist glanced at Frank's departing back, and raised her brows challengingly in Joe's direction. "He forgets that I'm the more athletic of the two of us," Joe told her. "I'll catch up with him in no time."

Joe did catch up with him, just as he reached the fourth landing. "I almost beat you," Joe told him triumphantly.

"I didn't realize it was a race," Frank muttered.

"Well, I did give you quite a head start," Joe explained. "You're not out of breath, are you, Frank?"

Frank's retort trailed off abruptly as he opened the door to the fourth floor. He put out his arm suddenly, his hand outstretched in a gesture of silence. Joe, curious, was about to see what had attracted his brother when he found himself pushed up against the wall by Frank's shoulder.

"Frank! What gives?" Joe hissed, confused.

"Joe," Frank said urgently, "what room are we staying in again?"

"Four-oh-two," Joe replied, concerned. "It's not like you forget something like that. First the wallet, and now this. What's going on?"

Frank inched his head out of the door again and drew in a sharp breath. "I think someone is trying to break into our room."

"Maybe it's the cleaning staff," Joe said, feeling a little miffed that Frank held him in position without letting him see what was transpiring.

"Doubtful. The rooms usually aren't cleaned until after lunch, remember?" He risked another quick look, and then turned to give Joe a look of amazement. "You won't believe this, but I think the person has a lock pick."

"A what?" Joe murmured, processing this information. "This is someone with skill. You think it's the burglar—the burglar from last night?" He quietly slammed his fist into this palm. "We should go and confront him right now."

"No," came Frank's calm refusal. "Let's wait until he's in the room, and then we'll surprise him."

They didn't have long to wait. Frank indicated that the coast was clear less than a minute later. With their quietest footfalls, the brothers crept up to their door, pausing as Joe withdrew the key from his pocket. On the silent count of three, Joe jammed the key into the lock and pushed the door handle, and then he and Frank burst into room in a fluid rush.

The person was in the process of reaching for Frank's computer when they leapt in. Joe sucked in his breath silently when he got a better look. It was a girl! She was vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't place her immediately.

She was dressed casually in dark clothes and, despite her oversized shirt, he could tell that she had a slim build and that she was probably his age. Her reddish hair was pulled back from her face and underneath a ball cap, with just a few tendrils escaping around her ears. Her blue eyes met his evenly. _She's actually quite pretty_, he thought appreciably. _Why can't I remember her? That's not like me_.

Recovering from her surprise, she flashed them an affable smile. "Oh, hi," she said brightly. "I'm in the wrong room, aren't I? I was wondering why I didn't recognize the computer. I'm terribly sorry." She shook her head, her expression one of embarrassment. She didn't leave enough of a pause for either Hardy to speak, but continued, "I guess I'll be going. Sorry again." With that, she strode toward them purposefully.

Joe was almost taken in by her. Almost. However, having had experiences with charming cat burglars before, he felt his guard reluctantly slide into place. As she neared them, Joe clamped a firm hand on her upper arm. "Not so fast," he said warningly. "The door was locked, and we saw you force it open."

It was perhaps due to some element of chivalry that he didn't adopt a martial arts stance, but he was slightly disconcerted to see that she had. Joe's disconcertion didn't improve when he found himself the target for a blow to the solar plexus. Only his lightning fast reflexes saved his abdomen from certain harm. She quickly stepped out of his reach and turned to gracefully settle in a perfect attack posture.

"Who are you?" Joe blurted out before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat a little self-consciously. "What are you doing here?"

She gave a mirthless laugh but didn't relax her body. "I thought that would have been perfectly obvious. I broke in. I got caught."

"Why?"

She blinked. "Because you two came back _a lot_ sooner than I expected."

Joe quirked a brow at her. "Humor in a thief. Now there's a rare quality. I like it. But you didn't tell me your name."

She moved her gaze from his to eye Frank warily, and Joe was surprised to see her shoulders ease. "I'm not a thief," she told him.

Joe risked a quick glance toward his brother, and was dumbfounded. Frank was standing perfectly still and, for his part, looked as though he was thunderstruck. Joe felt a bubble of amusement rise inside that nudged at his overriding annoyance at his brother's inaction. Frank was not infrequently tongued-tied around pretty girls, but Joe had never seen him quite so befuddled. His lips had parted in shock, and he looked as though he had completely forgotten where he was.

The silence stretched as the two of them continued to stare at one another. "Wow," Joe muttered, folding his arms. "This mannequin approach is so much more effective than using force." There was no reaction from either of them. Joe shrugged. "Well, Frank, if you've got her effectively subdued, I'm going to call Campus Security."

The girl turned toward him and nodded. "Yes, do that. We need to have a chat." Her gaze sharpened. "Specifically about _your_ breaking-and-entering skills."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Joe demanded.

"I saw you two yesterday—trying to get into the Frasier Building." Something clicked in Joe's mind. _That's_ where he'd seen her. Had she been following them all along? Before he could ask, she added, "Not to mention that you ransacked the place."

"Ransacked it?" Joe repeated. "Look, umm…I still don't know your name, and I personally think it's kind of rude to exchange accusations without going through the pleasantries first. I'll start. I'm Joe Hardy, and that model of suspended animation—" he indicated his sibling with a nod—"is my brother, Frank. And you are?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Joe could see the almost imperceptible frown between her brows that made him think she was going to lie. "I'm—"

To Joe's surprise, Frank finally found his voice, and interrupted. "Nancy Drew."

Her eyes widened slightly before she nodded slowly. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Yes, Frank," Joe intoned. "How _did_ you know?"

"I, uh, recognized you from a photo. From a newspaper article about some trouble on the set of a movie."

"That article was written months ago!" murmured the girl. "And it only mentioned me in passing."

"It caught my attention," Joe heard Frank mutter under his breath. In a louder voice, he said, "So, one attempted break-in each. Do you still want to call Campus Security?"

Joe watched at the two of them locked gazes again, but this time there was a definite undercurrent of suspicion from the girl, and in Frank…there was something else Joe found hard to define. "Uh, guys, let's not repeat the silent treatment thing again. What's going on?"

"Nancy's a detective," Frank declared after a moment.

Joe felt his brows climb his forehead. "A detective? Really?"

"You needn't sound so shocked," Nancy said, her tone frosty. "If you're going to say something like I'm too young to be a detective, you might as well just shut it now because I've heard—"

"No, no," Frank interjected. "You misunderstand." He gestured toward Joe. "In fact, we're detectives, too."

"Really?" There was no mistaking her incredulity at that statement.

"Hah," Joe grunted. "Shoe's on the other foot now, huh?"

"I—don't— Um, why haven't I heard of you, then?"

"Well," said Joe, feeling testy, "I've never heard of you before, either. If it wasn't for Frank… How did you know about her, anyway?"

Frank sighed wearily. "I read the newspapers, Joe."

The three of them glanced between each other for a long moment before Frank spoke. "So, where do we go from here? Do we call Security and rat each other out?" He shrugged. "Or do we be honest with each other?"

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Nancy considered her options. She was proud of herself for not betraying her innermost feeling—that of mortification. She couldn't believe she had made such a rookie mistake as being caught snooping around, and—to add insult to injury—she'd been entirely found out! It was only a small conciliation to learn that her exposure had come at the hands of detectives, albeit teenage detectives. The blond guy—Joe, she remembered—was right. She really had no right to hold their age against them, especially since that was an affront she suffered time and time again.

She decided to play along, if only to get some information. "So neither of you is the one who pushed me down the stairs yesterday?"

"Pushed you?" The dark-haired one, Frank, looked shocked. "Are you all right?" Nancy felt a little flutter in her chest at his concern, but it was tempered by Joe's words.

"Neither of us pushed you," Joe told her. "Why would someone want to do that?"

"It might have something do to with the case I'm working on," Nancy said mildly.

"And just what case is that?" Joe asked.

Nancy frowned at him. She had planned to be the one asking the questions, but so far she was failing miserably. She glanced between the brothers, and said, "I'm looking for Raya Alvarez."

Frank moved over to the loveseat and leaned on its armrest. "Who is Raya Alvarez?" he asked, folding his arms.

Nancy blew out her breath in frustration. "She's an archeology student here who went to Mexico last week and no one has heard from her since."

"Mexico?" Joe repeated, shooting his brother a bewildered look.

Frank cleared his throat. "Did she go to Muyaxche, by any chance?"

"Yes," Nancy told him, not bothering the hide the astonishment in her voice. Her mind flashed back to what Professor Ramirez told her that morning. "Are you looking into the sale of Muyaxche?"

Joe gave her a reluctant smile. "You're good."

"Why would someone want to buy Muyaxche?" she questioned.

"Apparently, it's chock full of gold," Joe informed her. "We're trying to ensure its fair sale amongst some ruthless bidders."

"Full of gold?" Nancy thought back to Raya's e-mails from her first trip. She had made no mention of any such finding. In fact, she couldn't recall if Raya had mentioned anything in particular about the ownership of the site. She considered Professor King's actions, trying to make sense of the evening's upcoming event. "Is tonight's gala to declare that the land has gold?" she wondered aloud.

Frank frowned at her. "The potential prospectors have already been notified. Apparently there was a former prospector on the original dig team—John Honig. He's already let the cat out of the bag."

"John Honig?" Nancy echoed.

"Do you know him?"

"No, not really. I was trying to reach him, but I haven't been able to. I think he's still in Mexico."

The brothers exchanged a glance. "Why would he still be in Mexico?" Frank wondered. "Tonight's gala is where the sale is going to take place," he told Nancy.

"What happens to the archeological site once Muyaxche is sold?" Nancy murmured.

"I don't know. I guess it depends on how close the potential mine will be to the site," Frank reasoned.

Nancy was silent for a moment, and then she caught Frank's gaze and raised her brows. "About last night—why did you guys break into the Frasier Building and ransack Professor Ramirez's room?"

"What?" Joe demanded. "We didn't break in!"

"I saw you two—trying to get into that window."

"Yeah—to _stop_ the burglar who was already inside!" Joe asserted. "We're the good guys, remember?"

"Sorry," Nancy said curtly.

"It was a natural conclusion, especially after you saw us in such a compromising action," Frank allowed, obviously trying to ease the momentary tension in the room. "The question is—who would want to get a hold of Ramirez's stuff? I talked to him yesterday. He also didn't know about the gold, or that Muyaxche was up for sale. In fact, the only Muyaxche-related thing he was doing was giving that lecture series. He was supposed to give one this afternoon."

"Hmmm," Nancy murmured, her thoughts in flight. "Unless someone didn't want him to continue."

"Like who?"

"I'm not sure," Nancy admitted. She sighed, still frustrated. "So far no one knows anything about Raya's disappearance. Everyone has pointed me in Professor Henry King's direction, but he's not available. That's why I went to the Frasier Building yesterday—to talk to him. He's the one who has been organizing the gala for tonight, but I didn't see him last night."

"We're going that shindig," Joe said. "Our contact, Martin Ivers, provided us with tickets. We're going to observe the land sale."

"Would you like to come?" Frank asked. "I'm sure you could be our guest without a problem."

"That's very kind of you," Nancy said sincerely, "but I'm already attending as someone else's guest."

"It'll certainly be a full house, what with three detectives and all," Joe commented.

Nancy inwardly agreed. She glanced between the brothers again, noting that her guard was still up. As far as she was concerned, their cases only overlapped slightly. After tonight, she would probably never see them again. She felt a strange twinge at that thought, her gaze falling on Frank.

Trying to dismiss her feelings, she smiled at them, and then apologized for breaking into their room, explaining she was naturally suspicious after having seen them in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"We'll try not to hold it against you," Joe told her.

She bid them farewell, and was about to take her leave when Joe's voice stopped her. "Nancy, one more thing before you go?" She turned around and gave Joe a quizzical look. "Are you from Chicago by any chance?" he asked.

She frowned, her eyes darting between Joe and Frank. "I'm from near Chicago. I live in River Heights. It's about an hour from the city. Why?"

"Nah, just curious," Joe replied noncommittally, but not before Nancy saw the surreptitious glance he tossed to his brother.

Nancy shrugged. "All right then, Hardys. I will see you tonight."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

"What was that all about?" Joe burst out finally after Nancy had left, quite obviously unable to contain himself any longer.

"What, Joe?" Frank asked tiredly. He stood and moved into his room to retrieve his forgotten wallet.

"Uh, let's see. What could I possibly mean? Oh, yeah, I know—maybe everything that transpired here just now?"

Frank gave a bark of a laugh. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Your reaction to her," Joe prompted. "Wow. It's not like you to be speechless when it counts."

"I wasn't speechless. I was trying to gauge her." He re-entered the sitting room, cutting Joe off before he could make his retort. "I was trying to figure out whether we could trust her or not." His explanation sounded slightly flat to his own ears, but he doubted Joe noticed. "Actually, I forced her hand."

Joe raised his brows, and nodded slowly. "You did," he agreed, "by telling her you know who she is. But then you told her about us."

"Actually, Joe, I didn't. _You_ introduced us, remember?"

Joe opened his mouth as though to argue, but then a faraway look came into his eyes that suggested he was replaying the events in his mind. "Yeah, I guess I did," he admitted. His gaze sharpened suddenly. "Frank, you saw Nancy yesterday, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me about her?"

Frank paused for a moment, thinking about Joe's accusation. _Why _did_ I keep her presence a secret?_ he mused. The answer didn't sit easily with him. He had jumped to a conclusion—something he rarely did.

Yesterday, when he'd seen someone using a ladder to look into the Frasier building, he'd automatically assumed the person was up to no good. However, a few seconds after telling Joe about the potential break-in, he'd been struck with thought that it was the red-haired girl—and, sure enough, she was there. It was then that a certain newspaper article had risen unbidden to his mind, giving him the obscure idea that she was a detective. He'd had no hard proof at the time, but he knew he had to help her. He had hoped to talk to her to confirm his suspicions, but he never got the chance, and so he had decided it was best to keep quiet until he could find a logical reason for his actions. Joe would have wasted no time in chewing him out for his uncharacteristic impulsiveness—heck, he would have chewed _himself_ out.

And he couldn't dismiss the niggling reason that he'd kept quiet was because he was inexplicably drawn to her…

"I couldn't be sure about her identity," Frank said aloud finally. "The photo from that newspaper story wasn't the greatest, and I didn't think I had the right to blow her cover without knowing for sure."

Joe rolled his eyes. "You're talking as though there's some sort of Code of Detectives." Shaking his head, he stared at the closed door. "And if there is, it's something _she_ obviously doesn't know about. She broke into our room and tried to punch me, Frank!"

"She didn't know about us, and our actions yesterday outside the Frasier Building _did _look a little suspicious," Frank told him evenly. "But it probably doesn't matter in the end. I'm sure she would have figured it out on her own. At least now we have some more information on our case, and we've got one more pair of eyes to pick up clues."

"And you're sure she'll share further discoveries with us?"

Frank blew out his breath in a quick sigh. "That's my hope. It's better to work with her than against her. Who knows, Joe. This might be the start of a long partnership."

With that, he strode toward the door with every intention of resuming their investigation, but not before he heard Joe's sardonic comment: "You know what they say, though? Keep your friends close…and your enemies closer."


	19. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Wow, you look fabulous, Nancy!" Daphne told her later that evening. "I wish I could pull off that look."

Nancy turned around, striking a facsimile of a model pose with a grin. The dress she wore fell almost to her ankles, but a slit on the side provided enough legroom for fairly decent steps—and for running and kicking, should the need arise. The bodice was quite simple, with a subtle black bow just above her waist. It was held up with sturdy but stylish straps. Her look was completed with her hair in a French twist and her favorite necklace with matching earrings. "It takes practice," Nancy said wryly. "I don't normally wear things like this. My friend, Bess, convinced me to buy this outfit for a movie premiere. Quite honestly, the only reason I packed it was because it can fold up into a really small space and not get wrinkled."

Daphne laughed. "That's practical. A little black dress comes in handy, I'll bet."

"Not as much as you would imagine," Nancy said, still grinning. "Detective work is seldom very fabulous. I'd sooner trade in this black dress for my black sweats."

"Makes it easier to sneak into places unnoticed?"

"Most of the time," Nancy admitted. _Except for earlier today_, she thought sourly. _What a fiasco!_ But the incident was not a complete loss because she'd met…him.

She frowned at herself in the mirror, pausing as she realized she was unconsciously dabbing perfume behind her ears. That was something she only did when she had a fancy date with her _boyfriend_ Ned. She set the scent bottle down firmly.

Daphne prattled on, unaware of Nancy's sudden unease. "Well, I'm sure the Frasier Building tonight is the one place where sweats would make it impossible to do some snooping on the outside—probably even harder than it was last night."

"That's true," Nancy agreed, still distracted. She gave a heavy sigh, eyeing her comfortable sneakers and deliberately passed them over for a pair of silver pumps. Her look was completed with a blue wrap, which she draped carefully over her arms.

"I just love that blue color on you," Daphne gushed. "It matches your eyes—and that jewel on your necklace. It's a sapphire, isn't it?"

Nancy touched the smooth stone around her throat. "Yes. My father bought it for me for my birthday."

"He's got good taste."

"Well, I'm sure he had a little female persuasion and help," Nancy said, smiling with fondness. Hannah had no doubt steered him in the right direction.

"I'm glad Alex is going with you," Daphne said as Nancy picked up her purse. "After yesterday—"

"But I already told you about those guys I saw. They claim to be detectives."

"I know," Daphne sighed. "But the guy who pushed you remains unknown."

"That he does," Nancy agreed. "Anyway, what could possibly happen to me tonight? This time I'm going to the Frasier Building as a partygoer, with lots of other people around. I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine."

"I'll wait up for you," Daphne told her. "I want to know if you learn anything about Raya."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Nancy promised.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Frank felt Joe's elbow lodge between his ribs as they neared the entrance to the Frasier Building. He opened his mouth to complain, but his mouth stayed open when he caught the direction of Joe's gaze. He was staring unabashedly at none other than Nancy Drew, who was attracting the attention of a good number of the guys in the vicinity. She was wearing a close-fitting black dress that revealed a tantalizing amount of her right leg when she took a step. A sapphire scarf was wrapped demurely around her shoulders, but the dress was low cut enough to set off the gem pendant of her necklace. Her hair was swept back in an elegant knot with a few curling tendrils falling softly on her neck. Frank closed his mouth and swallowed.

"Whoa, she cleans up well, doesn't she?" Joe murmured, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. "If we hadn't already made her acquaintance, I would definitely be doing so right now."

"Easy, Joe. I thought you were suspicious of her."

"Just keeping enemies closer, Frank."

Frank shot him an exasperated look. "You're incorrigible. I would suggest keeping your hands to yourself. She can obviously take care of herself."

_And she knows her stuff, too,_ Frank reflected, fingering his tie clip. He thought about how long it had taken him and Joe to learn what Nancy had told them about the ransacking at the Frasier Building the night before. The security guards who had been posted there earlier had all been tight-lipped, and Professor Ramirez had steadfastly refused to speak with them. It had taken a good deal of Joe's charm to get the story out of Joanne, the secretary.

Frank was about to go over to Nancy when he noticed her gaze was directed to someone closer to her. As he watched, a young man with crutches started moving toward her, but she hurried to his side before he could move too far. She gave the guy a wide grin, and suddenly she looked up and caught Frank's eye. She nodded his way, and the guy standing next to her turned in the brothers' direction, his face serious.

Frank and Joe walked to Nancy, who smiled a little awkwardly as they joined her and her companion. "Frank, Joe," she said, "I'd like you to meet Alex Leon. He's a graduate student who was on the first visit to Muyaxche."

"Nice to meet you," Frank said cordially.

"You as well," Alex responded. "Nancy tells me that you are detectives, too."

"That's right," Joe told him. "And I hope you don't mind if we ask you some questions." Without waiting for a reply, he continued. "Did you find gold at Muyaxche on your trip?"

Alex shook his head. "Nancy told me about it this afternoon. I must say I'm shocked. There was nothing at the site except the ruins of an old workshop. Maybe Professor King found something on his return trip," he suggested.

"Or maybe he's been keeping it a secret all along," Nancy murmured. "In any case, Alex, let me know when you spot Professor King. I need to speak with him."

"Will do," Alex said earnestly.

"How'd you end up in crutches?" Joe asked in a conversational voice as the crowd lingering near the outside started to move inside the Frasier Building.

Alex gave Nancy a wry look before answering. "Just a biking accident. Nothing spectacular."

They continued to converse as the doorperson checked the invitation roster before letting them in. Frank tuned out their talk to focus on the interior of the Frasier. The exterior had been deceptively simple, he realized. The inside was quite a large room in roughly the shape of a semicircle. Numerous glass cases were either nestled against the walls or freestanding in the room. Each case had a bright spotlight shining on it to highlight whatever artifact lay inside. Also along the walls were various photos and paintings, but Frank was too far away to see any of the details.

At the center of the room, what appeared to be a large box was covered by a sizeable white sheet. It was cordoned off by a velvet rope, and behind it was a projection screen. A small group of people had gathered around the mysterious box, each giving the area a curious glance as they chatted quietly amongst themselves. A series of waiters and waitresses passed nearby, offering beautifully arranged hors d'oeuvres and drinks.

"Emily Sturling is here," Joe said to him in a low voice.

"I see her," Frank noted, spying her in the crowd around the covered box. She was talking to a woman who seemed familiar, Frank noticed. A moment later he realized it was the same blonde woman he'd seen at the Frasier yesterday, the one who had kept him and Joe from going after the burglar. "Do you know with whom she's speaking?" he asked Nancy and Alex.

Alex nodded. "That's Carole Lockman. She's the one who sponsored our first trip to Muyaxche. She's some sort of patron for Winchester. Her company has given money to us before."

"Edward Chan just came into the room," Joe said. "Ooh, he's earned an icy gaze from Sturling already."

"Who's Edward Chan?" Nancy questioned.

"He's a prospector with Prospectors of America," Frank told her. "He's been trying to…uh…_prevent_ Emily Sturling from buying Muyaxche. He thinks she won't respect the environmental guidelines for mineral extraction if she gets a hold of the land. Sturling is, understandably, a little miffed."

"I'm going to go and talk with him," Joe announced, starting to turn.

"Are you really interested in Chan, or are you going over there because that's where most of the waiters are?" Frank grinned and winked at Nancy.

"I have been known to do my best thinking on a full stomach," Joe countered before moving off.

Frank heard Nancy chuckle, and he gave her a smile. She returned it, and then watched as Joe indeed sampled the canapés from passing trays. "Have you spotted Professor King yet?" she asked Alex.

"No, and I've been keeping my eye out…" He trailed off suddenly, his dark eyes focusing on something. "Wait, I see him now. He's with Carole and that other woman."

"Emily Sturling," Frank supplied.

"Let's go introduce ourselves," Nancy said determinedly.

Alex readjusted his crutches and led the way to the party in question. Up close, Frank could see that Professor Henry King was a tall man in his forties with fair hair. His face, likely exposed to too much sunlight on his various digs, was a deep tan and wrinkled around his eyes and mouth. The lines became more prominent as Alex came up to him.

"Alex," said King. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

Alex shrugged. "It seemed to be the only way to get a hold of you," he replied. He gestured to Nancy. "This is my friend, Nancy Drew, and this is Frank Hardy."

King looked at Frank questioningly, but before Frank could say anything, Emily Sturling spoke up. "He's one of my investors."

"Ah. Nice to meet you both," King said. "But if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to something—"

"Just a second," Nancy interrupted. "I wanted to ask you about Raya Alvarez. Is she still in Mexico?"

"Mexico?" King repeated, looking startled. "No, she's here. She came back from Muyaxche before I did."

Nancy appeared stunned. "Are you sure? Because her roommate—"

King suddenly seemed agitated. "I'm sorry, but can this wait until later? I do have to make an announcement." With that, he turned swiftly and strode to the back of the room, disappearing into a darkened hallway.

Alex looked thunderstruck. "How can Raya be here? Daphne would have known for sure if she came back."

The blonde woman—Carole Lockman, Frank remembered—gave a little start. "Daphne Miller?" she questioned.

"That's right. She's Raya's roommate. Do you know her?" asked Alex.

"I know Raya," Lockman said. "It's not like her to take off without telling anyone. Excuse me," she murmured. She quickly followed in King's wake.

"That was certainly strange," Frank commented.

"I'm really worried, Nancy," Alex muttered. "Why does everyone think Raya is here, when clearly she's not?"

"I don't know," Nancy said softly. Frank glanced at her quickly and immediately recognized her expression. It wasn't hard to realize that she was thinking furiously, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit.

At that moment, a uniformed guard moved in their direction. "If you'll just step back, ladies and gentleman, and clear the vicinity." He gestured to the mysterious area behind the velvet ropes. "We'll begin in just a moment."

The trio dutifully stepped back. Frank turned and spotted Joe speaking rapidly to Edward Chan some distance away. Frank was interested to note that Professor Jorge Ramirez was standing next to them. Frank watched them for a moment, before Joe raised his head and met his gaze in an almost pleading manner. "Excuse me," he said in a low voice to Nancy and Alex.

Before he could move, however, the room lights dimmed slowly, leaving only a spotlight on the covered box. Frank observed Henry King and Carole Lockman returning from the back room, Lockman nodding tightly to whatever King was saying. A hush descended in the room as King approached the covered area and moved aside the velvet rope. "Ladies and gentleman," he began, "thank you all for coming tonight. As you may or may not know, I'm Henry King, Professor of Archeology here at Winchester. I've asked you all here to share in some exciting discoveries. I'd like to thank Carole Lockman for her generous contribution to our department. Without her help, this would never have been found."

There was a collective gasp from the audience as Henry King whisked away the fabric to reveal a sizeable statue in what Frank presumed was the Mayan style. He was too far away to make out any specific details, but he could see that the statue's body glittered with gold, and that the statue's face, while made out of a dark stone, had noticeable gold accents. Similarly, its base appeared to be all gold.

"Behold the _Tajal Ut_!" came King's voice from behind the illuminated statue in its glass case. "A recent find that was made at Muyaxche by myself and my team. It was found while excavating an old workshop, evidently buried by a natural disaster and forgotten. But now it has been brought to the light to be admired by all. It's an excellent example of Mayan craftsmanship in the Yucatan. I'd like you to pay particular attention to the use of gold in this piece. The body and base are composed entirely of gold. Simply spectacular, isn't it?"

"Does this mean there's definitely gold on the land?" a man whispered next to Frank.

"Seems likely," replied another.

The crowd started to murmur at the discovery, but King's voice rang out again, effectively quieting the room. "But that's not all," he went on. "The most incredible finding, however, was a little further from the workshop, and even more precious than this statue here. It was only recently discovered when we tried to trace the source of the _Tajal Ut_'s gold." He fumbled for something in the dark, and then a picture of a cave flashed on the screen behind him. "This, folks, is why you have all been invited here. This is an ancient mine—an ancient _gold_ mine!"


	20. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

"A gold mine?" Edward Chan said in a too-loud voice. "When John Honig said he'd found gold, I thought he'd found it while panning. But a bone fide gold mine! Wow!" A troubled gaze crossed his features, and suddenly he marched away.

Joe glanced toward Ramirez, and noticed that the professor's face had gone slack with shock. "Just look at that statue!" he murmured. "I can't believe Henry was keeping that a secret."

As Joe watched, a thick knot of people formed around Carole Lockman and Henry King. He saw Emily Sturling among them, and Joe knew immediately that the bidding war for the land was taking place. He observed King separating himself from the group. Nancy looked as though as she wanted to move in his direction, but Alex's crutches were holding up the pair. Before she could reach King, Edward Chan had caught up with him, and started to speak in a persistent fashion.

Joe, curious, decided to get closer. As he did, he realized Chan was quizzing King about environmental practices. "Emily Sturling mustn't be allowed to buy Muyaxche," Chan added in a shrill voice.

King shrugged. "It's not my land to sell."

"Then who…?"

"Carole Lockman represents the seller," King said.

Joe perceived a look of desperation on Chan's face. Chan spun on his heel and approached the crowd around Lockman, rudely pushing people aside until he was next to her. Lockman looked like she was trying to brush him off, but Chan was insistent. Suddenly Chan waved his arms and spoke to the group of investors.

"People! Listen to me! I protest the sale of Muyaxche."

"Get lost," Emily Sturling said nastily. "You don't have any jurisdiction in Mexico, Chan."

"I do if an American landowner is selling to an American company, and that's the case here. It's perfectly within my right to inspect the site for mining feasibility, and I suggest the rest of you do the same—before you place a bid on the land."

"What are you suggesting?" an older balding man asked.

"That you all go down to Mexico to satisfy yourselves that you can indeed set up a mine on Muyaxche. It is an archeological site, after all. I'm sure the Mexican government would deny your permit if there's even the slightest chance of destroying further artifacts like that—_Taj—_whatever. That statue there." He pointed toward the glass case.

There was a murmur in the crowd. Joe watched as King joined Lockman and addressed the investors. "Rest assured, folks," placated King, "the mine is some distance from the archeological site."

"Even so," said Chan, "this land sale, for the purpose of gold mining, requires my stamp of approval." He turned to Carole Lockman challengingly.

Lockman and King appeared to be having an intense hushed conversation. Finally, Lockman looked up, nodding. "Edward Chan, of course I know about the Prospectors of America and your independent affiliation to protecting the land. We will be leaving for Muyaxche tomorrow, and you are welcome to join us." She turned to the investors. "I also extend an invitation to those who would like to join us."

Chan's relief was almost palpable. A few investors appeared discouraged, but most seemed to be in favor of the plan. Emily Sturling's eyes were livid, and Joe guessed she'd been about to win the bidding war. However, she stiffly agreed to the plan when Lockman asked her if she would join them.

"This is an interesting turn of events," Joe murmured when he joined Frank, who had been standing closer to the fervent dialogue. Frank made a soft sound of assent, and then stepped up to Sturling as she passed by. She seemed to be nodding to whatever he said, and then she excused herself. She swept past Joe, giving him a rigid smile, and then walked out of the building.

"What did you say to her, Frank?" Joe inquired, curious.

"I told her we are going to Mexico—in order to protect Martin Ivers's investment. She agreed."

"Mexico, eh?" Joe said in a bad Spanish accent. "_Olé!_ When do we leave?"

"It sounds like the final details will be left for us at the Palisades," said Frank.

"Hmmm," murmured Joe. He noticed that Nancy and Alex had finally caught up with Professor King, and that King was looking disturbed at whatever Nancy was asking. Frank and Joe stepped up to them in time to hear King say, "I really can't help you. Like I said, I was told Raya had come to New York before me. I'm not responsible for her actions. She's an adult."

"The smart thing to do would be to ask some questions in Mexico," Nancy put in.

King shrugged. "If you can get to Muyaxche, great. But I highly doubt she's there."

"Did you send a letter to her apartment a few days ago?" Nancy asked.

King appeared a little startled, but he recovered quickly. "I did," he said slowly. "She had asked me to send her the abstract of my latest journal article. I sent it to her via the intra-campus mail. Why do you ask?"

"I don't think she got it. Instead, she got a threat."

"A threat?" King's surprise returned. "Who would do that?"

Nancy merely shook her head. After a moment, she questioned, "Where's John Honig?"

There was some flicker of emotion across King's face that Joe couldn't place. It was gone before he could make a study of it, however. "He's still at Muyaxche."

"Why?"

"He's making the arrangements for the investors."

"Already?" Joe asked. "But that decision was only made a few minutes ago."

King shook his head. "John's worked in this business before. He told Carole and me that the investors might want to see the site first. I thought he was wasting his time, but I guess he expected the Prospectors of America to raise a fuss."

"Have you talked to him recently?" Nancy asked. King nodded. "And he's sure Raya isn't in Mexico?"

"He's the one who told me she'd left. And she wasn't at the site when I came back here a few days ago. Have you tried calling her relatives? Maybe she tacked on a family vacation at the end of her visit to Muyaxche."

Nancy looked like she was about to protest when they were suddenly joined by Professor Ramirez. "Henry, where did you find it? That magnificent statue?" Ramirez asked, obviously almost bursting at the seams.

King looked at Ramirez, frowning a little. "Jorge, I didn't expect to see you here. Your name wasn't on the list of those who had given an RSVP."

Ramirez waved his hand dismissively. "I met Edward Chan this afternoon, and he brought me along as his guest. I can't believe I wasn't invited to this unveiling."

"Maybe your invitation got lost," King said diplomatically.

"No matter. I'm glad I'm here now. About that statue—I thought we had excavated that workshop thoroughly."

"Me, too," King agreed. "But I was going over our data, and I made a virtual diagram when I arrived back here. The computer image made me think that we had missed a room in the south corner. That's why I went back."

"The south corner?" Ramirez echoed. "I don't remember anything in particular there."

"You're not an excavator," King said soothingly. "And, well, I missed it too—initially."

Ramirez looked like he was trying to remember the dimensions of the dig. "I'd have to recheck my notes and photos from Muyaxche," he said finally. "But I'm sure there was nothing there…"

"I heard your research was ruined in that attempted theft yesterday," King reminded gently.

Ramirez's shoulders slumped. "That's right."

Joe cleared his throat. "You know about the break-in last night?" he asked. "Why do you call it an 'attempted theft'?"

King turned his attention to Joe, his eyes sharp. "Because obviously someone was trying to steal the _Tajal Ut_—and failed. I was storing it in the room next door to the one that was hit. It's only sheer luck the thief couldn't get into it."

"Sheer luck," Joe repeated with some irony, remembering the hooded man with the axe. "But who knew about the statue?"

King shrugged noncommittally. "I tried to keep it hush-hush, but I guess the word got out."

"I really wish I could get a better look at the _Tajal Ut_," Ramirez lamented wistfully. "Can I get beyond the ropes to see it close up?"

King smiled. "Why don't we wait until later, when most of the crowd leaves. Then you can look your fill." He smiled at the group, excused himself, and moved off in Carole Lockman's direction.

Ramirez nodded slowly at King's suggestion and edged away to peer at the statue again. Frank and Joe exchanged a glance, and Joe felt some amusement as Frank moved closer to the professor. He seemed to be politely paying attention to whatever Ramirez was saying about the _Tajal Ut_, but it didn't escape Joe's notice that Frank was playing with his tie clip as Ramirez spoke. Frank lingered a few more minutes around the _Tajal Ut_, as though trying to view it from all different perspectives. He then strolled off in Ramirez's direction, nodding as Ramirez drew his attention to some photographs on the wall.

"Frank and I are going to Mexico," Joe said to Nancy. She snapped her head up to stare at him. "We're part of the investors," he reminded her. "We can continue your investigation for Raya, if you'd like."

"I—I guess," she said slowly.

Alex looked crestfallen. "I can't believe we're no closer to finding Raya," he said darkly.

"Hmm," Nancy murmured ambiguously. She snagged an appetizer from a waitress's tray and took a thoughtful bite. Joe watched her, amused. Her look almost mirrored Frank's when he was working through a problem. A sudden thought struck him, and he turned just as his brother rejoined them. Frank's pensive look halted Joe's comment, and he waited for Frank to share his idea.

However, whatever Frank was going to say died on his lips. At that moment, the room lights fizzled and went out completely.

"What's going on?" Joe heard Alex murmur.

"I don't know," Joe said calmly. "A blackout, maybe?"

"Not to worry, people," came Henry King's commanding voice in the dark from near the back of the room. "I think it's just a power outage. Please, everyone, just stay still and we'll get it fixed promptly."

There was a soft assenting murmur in the crowd. Joe blinked his eyes several times, but he couldn't see much. _That's odd_, he thought. Even the emergency lights indicating the exits had failed to light up. It took a while for his eyes to adjust, as the only light was coming from the night sky via the skylight. It had been cloudy in the afternoon, he remembered, which explained why he couldn't see the moon.

He was startled when a sudden light flicked on next to him. "You have a penlight," he heard Frank say in an awed voice.

"Comes in handy," Nancy replied. She flashed the light in Frank's direction, and Joe watched as he raised a hand to protect his eyes. "Sorry," she murmured.

"Hey, Nancy," Joe said, attracting her attention. "Maybe we should escort these people outside. It is awfully dark in here."

"OK. Good idea," she replied. She raised the light to sweep the crowd that was starting to gather around her. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want you to—" she started. All of a sudden, Joe heard the loud sound of a door closing.

"What was that?" he asked, straining his eyes. He had a sick feeling that someone had locked the front door. "Did someone close the door to the entrance?"

Frank touched his elbow. "No, the sound came from behind us."

Without further encouragement, Nancy spun around and pointed her light in the direction of the noise. "I don't believe it!" she hissed, the light wobbling wildly as she began to run.

"What is it?" Joe wondered, quickly following.

"Look," she gasped, stopping abruptly. She shone her penlight on the glass box that housed the _Tajal Ut_. "It's empty!" she cried. "The _Tajal Ut_ is gone!"


	21. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Gone?" Frank repeated, coming to stand next to Nancy. "But how—?"

Nancy was about to step up to the case when she felt some resistance at her waist. She tipped her penlight down and noted she had come into contact with the velvet rope. Quickly disengaging it from its stand, she let it drop to the floor and went up to the now vacant glass box. She was aware that Frank and Joe had followed her.

"May I see your light, Nancy?" Frank asked. She handed it over to him, and he made a sweep of the glass case, training the light in one of the bottom corners. "There's a lock here," he said. "But it's unlocked."

"It hasn't been smashed?" Nancy questioned. She leaned closer to Frank. "You're right."

"An inside job," Joe said confidently.

"But who would…?" Frank's voice faded.

"The same guy who was trying to steal it yesterday?" Joe put in.

The three detectives looked at one another in the gloom. Nancy reached down and took back her penlight from Frank's fingers, and then shone her light at the people in proximity of the glass case. Unfortunately, she couldn't make out their features all that clearly.

"What do we do now?" Joe asked. "Someone here has taken the _Tajal Ut_. Should we seal off the entrance and search everyone?"

Nancy frowned. "I think the person has already taken off. I thought I heard a door closing. C'mon!" She moved away from the display case and headed toward the back wall. Starting in one corner, she scanned the wall as quickly as she could, and was surprised when she eventually came to the other corner without spotting a door. Retracing her steps, she paused in front of the large screen that had been showing the photo of the Mexican cave. She slid her hand underneath, catching an edge, and was rewarded when she spotted a metal door hidden beneath. She tried the knob and gave a frustrated grunt. "It's locked."

"Locked?" Joe repeated. He lifted the screen and tried the door. "It is."

"Do you have your lock pick in your purse?" Frank asked in an amused voice.

"I do, actually," Nancy replied. She gave the light to Joe and rifled through her purse, producing her trusty lock pick between her thumb and index finger. She was about to insert the instrument in the lock when the light wavered violently. "Hold it still, Joe. I can't see."

"What's going on here?" a gruff voice asked.

Nancy looked up to see a security guard with a flashlight pushing aside Joe to peer behind the screen. "The _Tajal Ut_ has been stolen," Nancy said quickly. "We think the thief may have exited this way."

"What?" the guard bellowed. "Get away from there."

"But—"

The guard shouldered her out of the way and tried the door. "It's locked."

"I know," Nancy said in an exasperated voice. "It's probably an inside job—"

"I'll take it from here," the guard said authoritatively. "Why don't you three head back?" His voice left no room for discussion.

Shrugging, Nancy pulled away from the door and made her way to the front. Another guard was there with a flashlight, directing the partygoers toward the exit. Nancy glanced around and noticed that Alex was gingerly coming toward her with his crutches. She held back, the Hardys joining her, until Alex joined them.

"Did you find anything?" he asked as they made their way outside.

Nancy shook her head, distracted. She could see lights on in the History building next door. The blackout seemed to be solely centered around the Frasier Building. "Nope," she said in answer to Alex's question.

"The thief is long gone," Joe explained. "He was familiar with the building, though. Probably the same guy from last night."

Nancy just barely registered Joe's comments. A sudden thought came to her in a rush. "Wait a sec, guys," she called over her shoulder as she faced the building once more. Making a swift decision, she headed back the way she came, passing through the Frasier's imposing columns again. She searched the building's inner vestibule for a moment before switching on her light. After a few seconds, she found what she was looking for.

"Nancy?" It was Frank, who joined her presently. He stared at what her penlight was illuminating. "The building plaque. 'A generous donation by the Miller Foundation'," he read. "What's so special about this?"

"Hopefully something," Nancy said, deliberately vague, and let Frank guide her back outside.

Alex was speaking with Professor Ramirez, who looked utterly dejected. "First my research, and now this! I swear, Muyaxche must be cursed!" He grumbled a bit more, and then the professor bid the four of them goodnight, heading off toward the main campus.

"This is being handled rather poorly," Joe said. "I mean, shouldn't someone be questioning us, or something? Or telling us to wait until the police gets here?" As if on cue, Nancy heard the whine of approaching police sirens.

The three detectives dutifully waited until they gave their statements to the police, hoping to get word about the back room and if the _Tajal Ut_ had been found. Unfortunately, the police refused to divulge anything, and so, unable to help any further, the group decided to take their leave.

"You know, I wish I had gotten a better look at that statue," Alex said to them with a current of disappointment under his voice. "There was something not quite right about it…" He trailed off, looking at the pulsing lights of a nearby cruiser. "If I had a picture, I'm sure I could pinpoint what's bothering me."

Nancy noticed that Frank and Joe were exchanging a glance. "We have a picture," Frank said finally. "Several, actually."

"Really?" Nancy was impressed. "How did you…?"

Frank removed his tie clip and handed it to her. Nancy was suddenly struck by a frisson of awareness that sped through her as his fingers brushed hers. It was the second time in the last half-an-hour that their hands had touched. Nancy pushed aside her feelings and focused on what Frank was saying. "It's a camera."

"It's so small," she marveled, holding it carefully. "Is there a flash drive in it?"

Frank shook his head. "It actually downloads to the computer in our van." He took the clip back from her. "Would you like to see it?"

The Hardys' van was parked at the Palisades. Both she and Alex made the trek from the Frasier Building to their vehicle a slow one, what with her heels and his crutches. Eventually they made it into the parking lot where the brothers directed Nancy to a dark van.

"Welcome to our humble abode," Joe said cheerfully, opening the back doors and gesturing toward the dimly lit interior of the van.

Nancy accepted his outstretched arm as she pulled herself up, cursing her heels again under her breath. She ran her eyes over the contents of the van, acknowledging that she'd only seen vehicles outfitted in such a manner when she'd worked with the police—and once with the FBI. Along one side, a makeshift bench held two softly glowing flatscreen monitors with what she assumed was the hard drive underneath, its LED lights blinking unobtrusively. A host of other technological gadgets abounded—high quality headphones, a low profile printer, a small satellite dish, a router, two keyboards, countless cables. Nancy was not exactly a slouch when it came to computers, but beyond the usual web browsers, word processing programs, and a common operating system, she was lost.

On the other side of the van, Nancy noticed a narrow cot that was folded up against the metal interior. "Humble abode, indeed," she commented. "Do you guys sleep in here?"

"On occasion," Joe replied. "It comes in handy on such things like stakeouts."

"And times when the van breaks down miles from civilization," Frank put in with a meaningful glance at his brother. Joe, for his part, only smiled brightly, but Nancy felt the teasing undercurrent between the two of them. She was startled by the sudden pang of envy that welled up inside. The bond the brothers shared was obviously powerful, and Nancy could only imagine what it would be like to share a passion for detective work with a sibling. Sure, she had Bess and George, and Ned, but while they were all supportive, it wasn't quite the same as having an equal partner.

Alex joined her inside, leaving his crutches outside. He was leaning against Joe for support while Frank sat in front of the computer and began powering up his dormant equipment. He had loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, the picture of casual elegance. "Here," he said after a moment, his fingers seemingly flying over the keys. "I've been dying to try out this new program."

"He really has," Joe confirmed. "It's all he talks about. I think maybe he even dreams about it."

Frank swatted his brother on the shoulder without looking up from the screen. "OK, here are the photos I took of the _Tajal Ut_." As he spoke, Nancy noticed seven or eight photos flash up on the screen, all offering differing points of view of the statue. Alex bent closer to the monitor, fascinated. "I deliberately shot these in such a fashion," Frank explained vaguely. "They're all taken at approximately the same distance at the same angle. Now watch." A few keystrokes later, and a program progress bar flashed quickly before the final product was revealed.

Nancy let out a little gasp, and gripped Frank's upper arm gently, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his shirt. "Wow. You've recreated the statue in three dimensions."

In response, Frank dragged the mouse across the screen and the statue turned accordingly. "The ultimate panorama."

Alex whistled under his breath. "It's like CGI," he murmured.

Frank nodded. "It's based on the same software. This program is similar to that used in Hollywood blockbusters, except that I don't have a big enough server to load more than—"

"Frank," Joe interrupted with frown of impatience. "I'm sure that's very interesting, but let's focus on the task at hand. Do you see anything unusual about the statue, Alex?"

"Hmmm," he grunted. He studied the image as Frank manipulated the angle to display the various sides. "Wait, I think I see something. Can you zoom in?"

"Yeah, but only to a certain resolution. After that, there's not enough data for the individual pixels. I need a newer CPU to support that kind of detail."

"Can you zoom in on this part?" Alex asked, pointing to part where the statue's body joined its base. Frank selected a few options from several drop down menus, and suddenly the base came into sharp relief. Alex frowned, narrowing his eyes, and then he straightened suddenly. "Look at that!"

Nancy leaned closer to Frank's shoulder, peering at the spot Alex had pointed out. Frank, too, gave a scrutinizing look at the area, and Nancy knew he had reached the same conclusion when he gave a little start. "Is that a chip in the paint?" Nancy asked.

Alex nodded. "It looks like it," he confirmed.

"But I thought Henry King said the body is supposed to made of solid gold," Frank pointed out.

"That's what he said," Alex agreed, shaking his head. "But this looks like it's got a coat of paint over a bronze interior." He paused dramatically as the three of them looked at him questioningly. "There's no doubt about it. The statue is a fake."


	22. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

Daphne looked like she didn't know exactly what to say in response to Nancy's evening. "So, we still don't know where Raya is," she stated finally after Nancy had finished describing the events at the party.

"It looks that way," Nancy conceded, getting up and heading down to her room.

"Unless we can get to Mexico."

"The fastest way to do that would be to get on the plane with the investors," Nancy called back down the hall. She quickly undressed and removed her jewelry carefully, and then pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt. "Frank and Joe are going with them," she said, coming back into the living room. "I gave them the details of the case, and they said they would do their best to find her."

Daphne blew her breath out in a frustrated sigh. "If only Professor King would let us come," she mused. "But it sounds like he pretty much vetoed that idea."

"Unless we can get through to another person," Nancy murmured. "Daphne, do you know a person by the name of Carole Lockman?"

"Carole Lockman!" Daphne exclaimed. "_That's_ who I saw yesterday in the Frasier Building. I knew she looked familiar."

"Did she work for your family's company?" Nancy guessed.

Daphne nodded. "She still does, as far as I know. What was she doing at the party?"

"Apparently, she funded the archeological dig, and Joe told me she's representing the seller of Muyaxche." Nancy tipped her head slightly. "Was she involved in your father's contributions to Winchester?"

Daphne nodded again. "She's also an alumnus of Winchester, and she spearheaded a lot of the building development here."

"And she worked on the Frasier Building?"

Daphne raised her brows. "I suppose. It would make sense."

"She mentioned that she knew Raya."

"She does," Daphne agreed. "My father gave a large grant to the History and Archeology department a couple of years ago. Raya was in her first year of university then, and was awarded the first scholarship set up in my father's honor. That's how I first I met her—at that awards ceremony. My father and the others involved in the campus redevelopment were all in attendance—including Carole Lockman. I think Carole even makes yearly donations to the faculty." Daphne sat up a little straighter. "Nancy, I think I can convince her to let us come to Muyaxche. What do you think?"

Nancy reached for the phone and handed it to her. "Go for it."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Joe slung the duffel bag off his shoulder and gave the receptionist at the Palisades a giant grin. He was about to say something witty when he noticed her attention was drawn to a girl standing near the entrance. She swung her gaze between Joe and the girl, looking a little put out.

Wondering, Joe strode over to the girl. "Good morning, Nancy," he said, a little surprised. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

She looked around him, peering further into the lobby. "Where's your brother?"

Joe shrugged. "He's securing the van. He doesn't want anyone to break in and steal his precious equipment while we're gone." He looked at her a little more closely. "Have you come to see us off?"

"I'm coming with you."

Belatedly, Joe realized she was standing next to her luggage. "That's great," he said to her, aware he'd spoken with some false brightness. "How did you manage that?"

"I have my ways," she said in a mysterious voice, and then smiled. "It turns out Carole Lockman knows Daphne Miller, Raya's roommate. Since Daphne asked me to look into Raya's disappearance, she asked Lockman to include me in this little expedition."

"What about the roommate—er—Daphne?" Joe asked.

"I convinced her to stay to keep an eye out for Raya in case she comes back here." Something flashed in Nancy's gaze as she spoke, and Joe deduced it had taken a great deal of convincing on Nancy's behalf to get that part of the plan to work.

"Well, great to have you along," Joe said neutrally.

"Nancy!" came Frank's delighted voice as he entered the lobby of the Palisades. Joe noticed as he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth his windswept locks. "What are you doing here?"

"Going to Mexico," Nancy replied, explaining her circumstances.

As Frank and Nancy talked, Joe observed that the lobby was slowly filling up with the other investors. As Frank had mentioned the evening before, the finalized plans for their voyage to Muyaxche had been delivered to them later in the evening, instructing them to meet that morning in the hotel's comfortable sitting area. It wasn't too big a crowd, Joe saw. Perhaps a half dozen people, as well as Emily Sturling and Edward Chan, were interested in making the trip. Joe scanned the faces, looking for Trevor Stevens and his friend, but the Gemsun prospector and his pal were nowhere to be seen.

As promised in their itinerary, a shuttle bus pulled up on time in front of the hotel. Each person was greeted by Carole Lockman and Henry King. Lockman seemed to pay particular interest in Nancy, quizzing her about her detective abilities. Nancy managed to downplay her skills, insisting she was only interested in Raya Alvarez's welfare. Lockman seemed to accept that, and soon the bus was on its way to the airport.

"I thought there were more interested investors," Nancy murmured to Frank and Joe as they pulled onto the highway. "What happened?"

"Most of them didn't bring their passports," Frank whispered. "They weren't expecting this extra little hurdle."

"I tend to have mine on hand at all times," Nancy said.

"Do you do a lot of international traveling?" Joe asked, curious.

Nancy raised her brows a bit. "On occasion. My passport has come in handy a few times—especially for identification purposes."

Joe nodded silently at that. He and Frank had been out of the country more than a few times on cases, and they made sure they had their travel papers ready at a moment's notice.

Reaching down to his well-worn bag, Joe withdrew the itinerary from a side pocket. He read it carefully and smiled at Frank. "We're flying into Cancun," he said, already picturing the palm trees and white sands.

"We're going to an archeological dig," Frank reminded him. "Not a resort."

"Oh yes, we are," Joe said. "We're going to spend tonight on the Mayan Riviera."

Frank laughed at his dreamy tone. "Joe," he said reproachfully. "We have a mystery to solve."

"I know, I know. But I think my efforts thus far have earned me a little rest and relaxation, don't you think?" He leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh. "Oh, Mexico, here we come."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

They boarded the chartered flight without incident. Nancy took a seat next to the window, and was surprised when Frank sat next to her. "Joe snores," he explained.

Nancy laughed. "Is he going to sleep all the way to Mexico?"

"I think so. It's a mystery to me, too."

Nancy glanced out the window as they began their assent. "Speaking of mysteries, Frank, I have to ask you—when did you learn that I am a detective?"

She could hear the frown in his voice. "Uh, a few months now, I guess."

"Months?" She whipped her head around to look at him.

He shrugged. "I heard about the occurrences that took place on a movie set that was shooting in Chicago. I know the director and producer of the movie both sang your praises. It was even reported in the Chicago Tribune, although you somehow managed to limit your involvement in the account."

Nancy shook her head. "That article was a publicity stunt on the part of the director, really. To bolster interest in the film. The accidents had put them under a financial burden, and it was a way to recoup the losses. I helped a little on the case, that's all."

Frank gave her a knowing smile. "I'm sure your role was much more extensive than what was written. You just didn't take credit for it, did you?"

She laughed, feeling a little more at ease. "All right, all right. What do you want me to say? That I'm painfully shy?"

Frank laughed outright. "Somehow, I don't believe that. You're just being modest."

"Am I?" She smiled meaningfully. "Why do I get the feeling you know all about me?"

"Because I do." She raised a brow at that, and watched as his cheeks began to flush with blood. "Well, your role on that case," he amended hurriedly. "One of the police with the security detail on that movie is a friend of my father's. He mentioned you to me in passing."

"I see."

"But I didn't know who you were until I saw you outside the Frasier Building two nights ago," he continued. "That is, I didn't place your face with your name until then."

"Why did you warn me to leave?"

He shrugged. "I figured you were doing some investigating, and having the guard come across you would be very awkward. Did I make a wrong assumption?"

"Nope," Nancy said. "Not at all."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Joe did indeed sleep all the way to Mexico. Frank had long stopped being amazed at Joe's ability to drift off whenever they flew. He suspected it was because it was more comfortable to be passed out than to suffer being conscious in a tiny airplane seat. When they landed in Cancun, it was with great relief that Frank stretched his lean body as he clambered down the flight stairs and onto the warm tarmac.

A tour bus was waiting to take them from the airport to a nearby resort. When they had checked in, Frank was pleased to learn Nancy was in the room next to theirs, in a semi-secluded complex close to the beach. Unfortunately, the trio's trek to deposit their bags in their rooms was frequently interrupted by Joe's desire to make eyes at anything in a skirt. Nancy let out a peal of laughter when Frank grew tired of reigning in his brother and threatened to cut him out of the Hardy team if he didn't focus.

"But, Frank," Joe protested, "I was supposed to have a night off."

"Crime never rests," Frank said solemnly.

He inwardly wished he were here on vacation, though. The warm air blowing off the Gulf of Mexico ruffled his hair, and the soft sounds of a nearby mariachi band reached his ears. He spied the musicians serenading a couple at a nearby restaurant. Next to the restaurant lay two large interconnecting pools with a series of bridges and fountains, and beyond that Frank could just see the flat expanse of the ocean.

Before going into their respective rooms to freshen up, Frank, Joe, and Nancy agreed to meet shortly by the ocean to go over their case. Frank knew they probably could have talked in one of the rooms but, as the rest of the team of investors was also staying in the same building block, he preferred to be outside where they wouldn't be overheard.

He and Joe quickly changed out of their travel clothes and into shorts and T-shirts. "Man, am I glad it's summer back in New York," Joe said. "Because if we had come here in winter, I wouldn't have had anything to wear."

"I'm sure you'd find something," Frank said suggestively. Joe merely stuck his tongue out at him.

Nancy was already waiting for them when they reached the beach. She was sitting on a lounge chair, her sarong moving restlessly in the breeze. She scooted aside to let Frank sit beside her, and Joe sank onto the powdery sand with a luxurious sigh.

"All right," Frank murmured, making sure they were out of earshot of anyone nearby. "Let's talk."

"About the fake statue," Nancy started. "Do you think Henry King knew about it?"

"I'd be willing to bet on it," Frank said. "How could he make a claim about it being solid gold when it obviously wasn't?"

Nancy shrugged. "And who stole it?"

This time Joe shrugged. "No clue."

Nancy tapped a finger on her knee, looking lost in thought. She finally fixed her gaze on Frank. "Someone who knows the Frasier building," she murmured. "You know, yesterday's power outage only involved the museum. The History building was unaffected."

"That's right," Frank acknowledged.

"Daphne told me that Carole Lockman helped build the Frasier," Nancy informed them. "She would know the location of the power breaker."

"So you think she cut the lights and stole the statue? It seems a little risky," Joe pointed out.

"Not if she had help," Nancy said.

Frank expected her to elaborate, but when she didn't, he spoke up. "You think Henry King was behind the theft of the statue, don't you?"

She nodded. "It makes sense. Did either of you see Lockman or King come out of the building?" Frank and Joe shook their heads, and Nancy continued. "I think King stole the statue because he quite obviously didn't want Ramirez to inspect it too closely—otherwise he would have been found out."

"But we have no proof of this," Joe said, frustrated. "I mean, we have our photos—"

"But they don't count as proof," Frank finished. "Photos can so easily be digitally edited."

"Right," Nancy put in. "And the big question is—why would King go to great lengths to display a fake statue anyway?"

"Is he due to get a large grant or something if he makes a great discovery at Muyaxche?" Joe asked.

Nancy shrugged again. "I don't know. The only sponsor I know about is Carole Lockman—and she's likely already involved in its theft."

"Maybe there's some other benefactor we don't know about," Frank suggested.

"Or maybe he insured it for a pretty penny," Joe said, "and plans to collect on the insurance money."

"That's a possibility," Nancy conceded. She sighed and brushed her red-gold hair out of her eyes. "It's all so disjointed. How does Raya fit into this?"

"Maybe she knew it was a fake," Frank said, "and King had to keep her quiet until it was stolen and he collects the insurance money."

"OK," Nancy murmured. "Then why would he come to Muyaxche instead of sorting through those details in New York?"

Both brothers were silent for a time. Finally, Frank said, "It must all be tied to this land sale. Carole Lockman is representing the seller, right? What if she hasn't told the seller about the gold, and plans to collect the extra money herself?"

"You mean—she tells the landowner that she's selling the land at cost, but because there's actually gold on the land, the price is inflated. And she collects this extra money," Nancy finished slowly.

"Then how are Lockman and King tied together?" Joe wondered, sifting a handful of sand through his fingers.

"Maybe they are scratching each other's back," Nancy said. "Lockman helped King with his fake statue, and King is helping Lockman with her land sale."

"Or maybe one is blackmailing the other," Frank mentioned, thinking of how Emily Sturling had convinced Martin Ivers to invest with her company.

"I think we've got too many _maybes_," Nancy said grimly, "and not enough facts."


	23. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Joe announced he was going to seek dinner. He jumped up and left before either Frank or Nancy could move. Frank was feeling a little self-conscious being so close to her, sharing her lounge chair, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were focused on something just beyond his right shoulder. Turning, he noticed a young woman about their age, splashing in the ocean with an older woman who bore a maternal resemblance.

"What are you thinking about, Nancy?" Frank asked softly.

She seemed to shake herself as she focused on him. "See that girl there?" She indicated the one she had been watching. "I talked to her briefly before you and Joe came down. It's her first time in Mexico. The vacation is her high school graduation present from her mother." Frank held his tongue, waiting for her to continue. "I missed my graduation from high school," Nancy said finally. "I was on a case, helping out a friend."

"I missed my graduation, too," Frank told her. "Same reason." He inwardly grimaced. Gray Man—an agent with the secretive Network, which was an organization that had recruited the brothers on occasion for special intelligence missions—was not who one would easily call a friend.

"I don't know how I made it through school," Nancy murmured, interrupting Frank's thoughts. "I didn't scrape by, but I definitely could have done better had I been more dedicated." She gave him a sidelong glance. "How do you handle it?"

"Being torn away from my schoolwork?" he asked with a smile. "I don't mind it, although it was quite challenging, especially this year. But the way I see it, it's a little like being involved in competitive sports—between school and our detective work, there's not much time to do other things, and sometimes I have to make sacrifices."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Except that sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on just being an ordinary teenager, you know?"

Frank grinned at her. "Oh, c'mon. How many teenagers are out there? And now how many of them are famous detectives who go by the name of Nancy Drew?"

"Only one," she ceded.

"That's right, Drew. Only one. And don't you forget it."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Joe had found the room in the restaurant reserved for the investors. He shivered a little as the blast of air conditioning hit him, but he felt much more pleasant as he moved away from the door. A buffet style dinner had been served, and the majority of the group was clustered around the food. When they had piled their plates, a few waiters ushered the patrons into the room, which held a few dining tables and had a screen at the back with a podium.

Frank caught up with him as Joe was loading up on enchiladas. "I've got a funny feeling about this," Frank muttered, eyeing the investors as they filed into the designated room.

"Really? The only feeling I have is hunger pangs."

Joe heard a good-humored female laugh and turned to find Nancy standing next to him. Frank rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage him," he said darkly.

Joe waited for the two of them to select their food, and then they all sat down together. Once the room had filled, Joe found himself glancing around. "Where's Edward Chan?" he asked Frank.

Frank cast a few surreptitious looks around the room. "He's not here," he noted. "He arrived with us, though. He was ahead of me in the check-in line."

"I wonder where he went," Joe murmured.

Frank had no answer for him. Once everyone in the room had just about polished off their meals, Emily Sturling took to the floor. She began by flattering the other investors, and then slowly Joe realized her tactic. When she came right out and said it, however, he was shocked. Sturling was trying to convince the independent investors to buy shares in Gemsun, and she promised to give them a good portion of the profits if they did.

"Is that even legal?" Joe muttered under his breath to Frank.

"It's a good thing Edward Chan isn't here to hear this," Frank replied. "He'd go ballistic."

Joe turned to him with a frown. "Maybe he's been put deliberately away," he suggested. "Sturling wouldn't have made such a pitch if he were around."

Nancy raised her brows at the brothers, having overheard their conversation. "Do you think she did something to him?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Joe told her.

Despite Sturling's valiant efforts, the investors refused to pool their money until they had a look at the site. After she sat down, Henry King and Carole Lockman spoke to the group, outlining their travel plans for tomorrow.

"We'll go by bus as close as we can get to Muyaxche," Lockman announced. "From the road, it's a hike of about a couple of miles. We'll stop at Professor King's makeshift lodgings next to the Muyaxche archeological site for a snack. The gold mine is several miles into the jungle from there. Due to the distance, we will need to spend one night in the field—so pack accordingly. For those that aren't up to the full trek, you can return here after seeing the dig tomorrow." She smiled at the group. "And for those who fall into that category, Professor King has brought along his photos of the gold mine, and we'll be projecting them now."

King plugged his laptop into a port at the podium, and soon various pictures of the Mexican cave filled the large screen. "From the outside, it doesn't look like much," he said. "But as you can see here, from some photos taken inside, the gold ore is very much present in prominent veins. The Mayans barely extracted a tenth of the gold before mysteriously abandoning the mine."

There was a bustling murmur in the audience as they saw the streaks of gold set along the rock face. King began to explain the more technical details about how the Mayans had mined the gold and transported it to the workshop at Muyaxche to melt it down and create works of art like the _Tajal Ut_.

Joe tuned out the speech, his attention drifting between the door and Emily Sturling. Edward Chan was still nowhere to be seen, and Joe was getting more than a little worried. When Sturling excused herself to leave the room, Joe leaned over to Frank. "Let's have a chat with her, shall we?"

Frank was about to nod, but then he glanced at Nancy. She shook her head and smiled. "I'm going to stay to ask Professor King some questions. I'll meet up with you later."

"OK," he said softly, and Joe led them out of the room. Emily Sturling was slowly ambling around the restaurant's wooden patio to make her way to a bar. After collecting an elaborate drink, she drifted over to a table that overlooked the ocean. Frank and Joe joined her.

"Ms. Sturling," Joe began in a pleasant voice. "We couldn't help but notice your obvious aversion to Edward Chan."

Frank shot him a glance that indicated he was less than pleased about Joe's lack of tact, but Sturling only laughed. "I guess you could say that. The Prospectors of America and I have been locked in a legal battle for months now."

"We heard about that," Frank put in. "Is that why you want to buy Muyaxche so badly?"

She shrugged. "What do you think? If I get my hands on Muyaxche, I'll have more than enough money to jumpstart my company." She eyed Frank and Joe. "And enough to give healthy returns to those who have contributed."

"Of course," Frank murmured.

"Have you seen Edward Chan this evening?" Joe asked bluntly.

She frowned. "What Chan does here on this resort is none of my concern. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to enjoy the resort a little myself."

Joe and Frank left her alone and decided to walk back along the beach. "Maybe Chan is in his room," Joe suggested finally. "Do you know his room number?"

Frank seemed to search his memory. "I think it's a couple of doors down from us. It's worth a shot. C'mon."

Joe breathed a sigh of relief when Edward Chan opened his door. "We missed you at dinner," Joe told him. "Is everything OK?"

Chan smiled widely. "I'm glad you two are looking out for me. Yeah, everything is fine. Great, actually."

Joe exchanged a glance with his brother. "What have you been up to?"

Chan's smile turned into a grin. "I've arranged for special transport to the mine site."

Frank cleared his throat. "While you were gone, Emily Sturling tried to convince the other investors to join her company—an attempted buy-out. It failed," he added.

Chan merely shrugged. "Emily is ruthless that way. That's why I didn't want to involve the police the other day, when her guys tried to threaten me. She would have twisted things around to vilify me—probably by mentioning that I had sent a warning letter to her investors—and that would have hampered my efforts to keep my eye on this venture." His serious look dissolved into a grin once more. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Tomorrow I'm going to do a thorough survey and put a stop to Emily Sturling and Gemsun—once and for all."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

After Professor King had stopped speaking and had moved away from the podium, Nancy approached him. "You look fairly relaxed for someone whose prized discovery was stolen last night," she told him.

King jerked his head up to look at her. "The police recovered it. It was in one of the back storage rooms."

Nancy just managed to hide her surprise. "Indeed?"

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. "And then I made the horrible discovery that it is a fake."

"How did you find that out?" Again, she crushed her incredulity.

"It just didn't look right to me. When the police showed it to me, I realized that it was covered in pyrite and gold leaf, not real gold." He leaned back and smiled wryly. "The real one was stolen the night before, but I didn't realize it."

Nancy raised her brows. "So the real _Tajal Ut_ was taken from the basement storage room the previous night, and replaced with a fake, which you displayed." He nodded. "Then why did this person leave a fake behind, and why was it stolen the next day?"

He shrugged. "To give the thief enough time to smuggle it away?" he suggested. "I don't understand the criminal mind, but _you_ should, right, Nancy Drew? I heard Carole mentioning that you're a detective. Do you have any ideas?"

"About why someone would want to steal a fake statue?" Nancy murmured, giving him a direct look. "I think the person would be worried that it might be identified as fake if an expert got a close look."

King shrugged again. "Sounds reasonable to me. I'm afraid I wasn't paying too much attention to it when it was put in that glass case. I was so busy organizing the rest of the gala. But I guess the thief figured I would catch on later when I could view it at my leisure. I don't think the thief anticipated the police finding it so soon. I was told one of the guards was given a tip about looking in the back room. That was a pretty lucky break—otherwise it might have been months before it would have been found."

"Lucky break," Nancy repeated.

He smiled at her. "Anyhow, I understand you're here primarily to look for Raya Alvarez. Have you had any luck so far?"

"No one I questioned at the airport seemed to remember her," Nancy admitted. "But I haven't scratched the surface of my investigation."

"Don't let me keep you," Professor King said, and strode over to Carole Lockman, effectively ending the conversation.

Nancy blew her breath out in a sigh and left the private room of the restaurant. Digging out the photo of Raya Daphne had given her before she'd left, Nancy began showing it to the resort staff, using her high school Spanish to the best of her ability. After over an hour of questioning, she decided to return to her room, her shoulders slumped. She was mildly surprised when she spotted Frank sitting on the steps that led to the path connecting the beach and their room complex.

"Hey," he said, briefly catching a hold of her arm. "There you are. I was getting a little worried. Did you have any luck?"

She shook her head and sat down next to him. "No one I spoke to has seen Raya. I specifically asked the staff, thinking they might have seen her in the city or nearby, but no one recognized her."

"It was a valiant attempt," Frank told her gently. "But they probably wouldn't have remembered her unless they had a reason to."

"Yeah, you're right. I had to try, though," she told him. She sighed and watched as the last of the sunrays faded on the horizon. She glanced at her watch and was startled to see the time. She knew there was no time difference between Cancun and Chicago, and she also knew it was too late to call her father. "Frank," she murmured, looking up at him, "did you bring your laptop here?"

"Yes," he said. "Did you need to use it?"

"Do you have a wireless signal in your room?" Frank nodded. "I ought to send an e-mail to my father," Nancy explained.

"No problem," Frank said. He directed her back to their rooms, but when they arrived, he paused outside his. "Uh, wait here a sec. Let me just make sure Joe is decent."

Nancy smiled. "Sure."

Frank reopened his door a few moments later and Nancy noticed he had the laptop in his hands. "Joe's actually sleeping," he said.

"Really?" Nancy said in wonderment. "How can he be tired? He slept on the plane!"

"I told you he's a bit of a mystery," Frank reminded her.

"Well, you might as well come into my room," Nancy said. She unlocked the door and let Frank step inside. Frank swept past the tiny desk across from the bed and went out onto the balcony.

"It's such a nice night," he explained. "And the signal here isn't too bad." With that, he started up his computer, and then vacated the seat to go stand along the balcony railing.

Nancy sat down and opened her inbox, noting that she hadn't received any new messages since she'd last checked it the previous night. She dashed off a note to her father and was about to send it when a thought struck her. He had access to the majority of the Miller files; she wondered if he could do a little digging on Carole Lockman. Inspiration hit her and she specifically asked him if the Miller company owned a piece of land in Mexico. If Lockman was indeed representing the seller, it would be reasonable to assume the Millers were the ones selling. Perhaps Lockman was taking advantage of the company's recent legal troubles to make some money.

After finishing her e-mail, Nancy closed the screen of the laptop and sat still, staring at the view. The sun had already set, and she could see the half moon hanging proudly in the east, over the Gulf. Her eyes fell on Frank's profile. She knew she should feel a little ashamed, thinking of him in the way she was—especially since she had Ned waiting for her. But for some reason, she pushed aside those thoughts and went to stand next to him, enjoying the companionable silence. _It's because Frank understands_, she realized. _He's a detective, too, with the same worries and satisfaction I get from this work_.

He turned toward her slowly, smiling a little when a gust of wind caught a lock of her hair and blew it across her forehead. He reached out tentatively and smoothed it back behind her ear. "Nancy," he began.

Nancy could feel her heart pounding at his touch, but suddenly something shattered the moment. "Did you hear something?" Nancy murmured, about to draw back.

Apparently Frank had. He was already moving and sliding open the glass door before Nancy even stirred. She joined him as he stood still, listening. Nancy did the same, scanning the room. Suddenly her eyes lit on a piece of paper halfway under her door. "That wasn't there before," she whispered.

Before she could move, however, Frank gripped her arm, still listening. Nancy tipped her head back and stared into Frank's eyes, and he removed his hand slowly. Nancy flew to the door and yanked it open, glancing both ways down the hall. There was no one in sight.

"Whoever it was, they're gone," she told Frank, closing the door.

Frank didn't say anything. He had picked up the paper on the ground. Wordlessly, he handed it to her. She read it out loud.

" 'Go back home now while you have the chance, Nancy Drew, or you may never go home again.' "


	24. Chapter Twenty Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Frank looked at the note again, his temper mounting. He was sure Nancy had received threats in the past—it wasn't a rare occurrence for him and Joe either—but he felt an irrational protectiveness come over him. What had she said earlier, about wanting to be an ordinary teenager? In that moment, Frank wished she was.

Nancy moved over to the desk and flipped on the light, smoothing the note with her hand. "It's typed," she said, her voice oddly controlled. "You can bet there aren't too many printers here on the resort. In fact, I noticed only one computer room—it's near the main lobby." She started to move toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Frank hissed, stepping in front of her.

Nancy frowned at him. "I'm following a clue," she said in a normal voice.

"But that guy could still be out there," Frank protested. "What if that's what he wants you to do—to go after him?"

"Well, I'm not going to just sit here in my room, like some simpering miss," Nancy said, her voice rising.

"I'm coming with you, then," Frank told her after a moment.

She blinked at him. "Frank, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

She was prevented from replying by a knock on the door. Frank noticed a startled look dart across her face and, without waiting for her permission, he flung open the door and quickly assumed an attack stance.

"Whoa!" came Joe's surprised exclamation. "What's going on here?"

"Oh, you're up," Frank said quickly, relaxing.

"Up?" Joe repeated. Frank shot him an urgent look and he nodded. "Up, yes. I heard you two, uh, exchanging words. Is everything OK?"

"No," Frank said shortly. "Nancy just got threatened."

"What?" Joe's eyes widened as Frank showed him the note.

"Nancy was just telling me how she didn't want me around while she tracks down the source of this threat," Frank added. "But she never got a chance to tell me why."

"Because I don't want to blow your cover," Nancy said simply. "The person who sent me this knows I'm a detective, but you two are just investors."

Frank opened his mouth to argue but then closed it briefly. She was right. "Except for Edward Chan," he reminded her. "Did we also get a threat?" he asked Joe, who shook his head. "I guess we can rule him out as a suspect."

Nancy gazed between the brothers for a long moment. "All right," she said to Frank, obviously conceding. "You can come. But let's just pretend we're going for a walk."

She started down the stairs before either brother could say anything. With a shrug in Joe's direction, Frank followed her, catching up with her just as she stepped on the beach. She glanced at him abruptly and slowed her pace, obviously noting his cautionary look.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"It's OK," Frank told her. "I know the feeling—you must be getting close if someone wants to threaten you."

"Close to finding out about Raya," Nancy said. "I hope she's OK."

"Me, too."

The computer place was closed when Frank and Nancy reached it. "It closed a half-an-hour ago," she sighed, reading the sign posted on the door. "Do you think questioning the person who works here would have helped at all? I mean, I must have told a hundred people tonight that I'm a detective and I'm looking for someone."

Frank shrugged. "If you ask me, I think it's probably from someone we know. What I mean is—how many of the staff here can write English well enough to threaten you so elegantly?" She raised her brows at that, and he shrugged again. "It's not an out-and-out threat, but merely a suggestion."

"It _is_ a little on the subtle side—the writing, anyway," Nancy agreed. "Hmm."

They strolled back along the beach back to their rooms, each lost in their own thoughts. Frank was surprised when, out of the blue, Nancy asked him, "Do you have a girlfriend, Frank?"

"Uh, yes, I do," he replied. "Callie."

She nodded at that, as if expecting it. "I have a boyfriend. Ned." She said nothing further until they were back in front of their rooms, where she bid him goodnight. "Sleep well," she told him. "I think we may just break this case open tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it," he murmured, watching her go. "And, Nancy, if anything happens—"

"You'll be the first to know, Hardy," she promised. With a smile, she was gone.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

The next morning, Nancy was up early and waiting for the bus to Muyaxche before anyone else. She had it in her mind to quiz the staff of the computer room before she left, but when she got to the room she found it closed, even though the sign clearly indicated the room should be open. With a frustrated sigh, she turned and bided her time by making a brief study of the lush gardens at the front of the resort.

She had been glancing over the tropical plants for a few minutes before she observed a man in his mid-thirties with light brown hair drive up in a jeep. After parking, he easily climbed out and greeted one of the resort's receptionists. Nancy couldn't help but overhear as he introduced himself as John Honig.

When he had finished speaking with the receptionist, he turned and settled into one of the rattan chairs in the airy lobby. Nancy, fixing a smile on her face, joined him.

"Hi," she said brightly. "You're John Honig, right?"

"That's right," he agreed, a slow grin stealing across his face as he took her in. "Who wants to know?"

"My name is Nancy Drew," Nancy began. She paused a tad when she noticed his grin flicker ever so slightly, but decided to continue. "I'm looking for Raya Alvarez."

"I heard that you were," he said. "Sorry, I haven't seen her in over a week. She said she had to head back home on short notice—some sort of family emergency. I even drove her to the airport."

"Head home?" Nancy wondered. "To her grandmother in Baltimore? I heard she was sick, but I never did get in touch with anyone to learn if they had heard from Raya," she fibbed.

"Yeah, Baltimore. I think that's what she said." Honig gave Nancy a leisurely look. "It's too bad you came all the way down here just for that," he told her. "I hope you can stay for the trip to Muyaxche."

She returned his look. "Are you going to be there?"

He smiled slowly. "Alas, no. At least, not for the trip to Muyaxche. I have to accompany a very important person up to the old mine site. But maybe I'll run into you there."

"I'm looking forward to it," Nancy said casually.

"Good." He looked over her shoulder and lost his smile. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going." With that, Honig rose and strode further into the lobby. Nancy offhandedly tried to see with whom he was meeting, but he walked around the corner of the piano bar and out of sight. She was tempted to follow him when she noticed Frank and Joe walking in from the opposite direction.

"Morning, guys," she greeted them cheerfully.

"She would _have_ to be a morning person," Joe grumbled aloud to Frank.

"Joe has seen more sunsets than sunrises," Frank explained. He gave Nancy a direct look. "Who were you talking to?"

"That was John Honig."

"Oh, yeah? What did he tell you?" Joe asked.

Nancy shrugged. "That Raya left here more than a week ago. He also didn't disagree with me when I suggested that she went to Baltimore to see her sick grandmother." Frank and Joe looked at her blankly. "You see, there is no sick relative in Baltimore." The brothers continued to be silent, merely watching her. "I know, I know. It doesn't mean much. But it does raise my suspicions even higher. I am more convinced than ever that Raya's disappearance has something to do with Muyaxche."

"It looks like we're almost ready to head out," Joe noted, gazing about. Nancy realized that a good portion of the investors were milling about the lobby. "Almost everyone I saw last night is here."

"Except Edward Chan," Frank said slowly. "That's a little bizarre now, isn't it?"

"Do you think he overslept?" Joe asked.

"I can't imagine that he would have," Frank muttered. He eyed the little cluster of investors, and then turned to give a searching look at their room complex. "Stay here," he ordered Nancy and Joe, removing his bag from his shoulder. "I'm going to run back and see if he's in his room. Don't leave without me," he added, turning and jogging back the way the brothers had come.

Frank was back before either Carole Lockman or Henry King had arrived. He was hardly out of breath, Nancy realized, even though he had likely run close to half a mile. "I knocked and knocked on Chan's door," he told them. "No one answered. Either he's an incredibly heavy sleeper—or he's not there."

"Then where is he?" Joe wondered. "You don't think…Emily Sturling…?"

"Did something to him?" Frank finished. A dark look crossed his face as they spotted Emily Sturling a few feet away laughing in response to what another investor was saying. "Of course she'll deny it."

"Of course," Joe echoed. "So what do we do? Stay here and find Chan?"

Frank shook his head. "I think we should go to Muyaxche—and see what Sturling is up to."

It took another quarter of an hour before the group boarded the bus for the trip. Nancy wasn't sure why they had been held up, but she suspected it had something to do with the late arrival of Lockman and King. They certainly looked a lot more tense that morning than they had in the past.

As the group was driven south along the coast, Professor King began to give them an impromptu speaking tour of the area, commenting on the major resort towns as well as known archeological sites nearby. He talked extensively about Chichen Itza, the large and famous Mayan site, which lay quite a bit farther inland. "We have reason to believe, although the Mayans didn't have the opportunity to mine extensively from Muyaxche, that some of its gold did indeed make it to Chichen Itza."

Nancy, although interested in the local history of the Yucatan, found she couldn't listen. She kept replaying what John Honig had told her about Raya. _He's lying_, she thought. _And so is Henry King. But why?_ She shuddered suddenly, earning a concerned glance from Frank, who sat across from her. She merely smiled in reassurance, but inwardly she was glad the Hardys were with her. She couldn't dispel the feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

It took a little over two hours to drive to the drop-off point to get to Muyaxche. After allowing the passengers to stretch their cramped muscles, King gathered the group together. "The hike is a little strenuous," King started, "and it can be tricky—the path isn't very wide and there's a lot of debris in the way. You can imagine just how difficult it was to get our equipment here for our survey. If you need to stop, please let me know."

King led the way into the jungle, with the others following. Nancy found herself bringing up the rear, with Frank and Joe. Nancy was astounded by the dazzling green of the trees' foliage in the mid-morning sun. The thick leaves cast deep shadows into the jungle, and she could hear the faint and unfamiliar calls of birds above the rustle of the wind. The walk, despite what King had warned, was _more_ than a little strenuous—she had broken into a sweat almost immediately what with the heat and exercise. A couple of the older investors seemed to be struggling quite a bit, asking for frequent stops as they sat and drank from water bottles. Once, an elderly woman tripped over a large tree root snaking across the path, but she was saved from certain harm by Joe, whose quick reflexes prevented a serious tumble onto the ground. "Thank you," the woman breathed, holding onto Joe's arm for longer than was necessary and flashing him an enthralling smile.

"I don't know how he does it," Frank whispered to Nancy. "He picks up fans wherever he goes."

"I'd like a _real_ fan right now," Nancy replied, absently removing her hat and waving it in front of her face. "Whew!" Feeling a sharp pinch on her forearm, she instinctively slapped the area, belatedly realizing she was being bitten by mosquitoes.

"It's not too much farther now," came King's voice from up ahead. "Maybe another fifteen minutes." A collective groan rose from the assembly, but they doggedly plodded along.

When they finally arrived at Muyaxche, Nancy's lips parted. A large stone statue, its features well worn by the elements, greeted them as they stepped from the path. In the clearing, she could see several squat buildings in the shape of pyramids scattered around a central area marked in small grids with durable string and small colorful flags. King was visibly eager to show off his site, but he was wise enough to allow his guests to rest a while. The majority of the group, not being interested in archeology, stuck to the shade and recuperated. Only Carole Lockman, in addition to the three detectives, seemed fascinated by the place.

"You've never been here before?" Nancy asked Lockman as they both gazed down into the dig. Nancy could see how painstaking it would have been to sift through each grid, especially with the sun beating unmercifully down on them. Most of the area looked as though it had been excavated, but Nancy wasn't an expert.

"I have," Lockman replied to her question. "But before Henry came here with his team. He tells me this is just a workshop—the place where the Mayans brought the gold from the mine to shape it into works of art."

"And you haven't seen the mine either?"

Lockman shook her head, her damp blonde tendrils sticking to her face. "I didn't know there was a path leading to it."

Nancy eyed her carefully. "Ms. Lockman, who is selling this land? It seems like such a shame to let this beauty succumb to the construction needed to create a modern mine."

Lockman raised her head sharply. "You sound like Edward Chan," she said accusingly. "I didn't realize you had an interest in environmentalism." Nancy held her tongue as the older woman continued to stare at her. "And, anyway, who is selling the land is none of your business. It must be sold as soon as possible." She gave Nancy one last hard glare before moving off alone.

"She's touchy," Joe noted, watching her march off.

Frank nodded. "And she seems…almost nervous, don't you think?"

King, realizing the crowd was primarily interested in the mining potential of the land, directed the group over to one of the large tents that housed the equipment and artifacts. It was only marginally cooler inside. Nancy could see several large benches with the dig team's equipment, which ranged from simple items, like shovels and brushes, to several computers. Near the back of the tent she could see a few cots. King caught her gaze and loudly proclaimed that those continuing onto the mine would be returning to Muyaxche in the evening and spending the night in the tent. "Rest assured, folks. We have a generator, so your night won't be that uncomfortable."

Despite King's words, Nancy could see a lot of the investors were having second thoughts about hiking to the mine site and back. Observing their reluctance, King gestured to a table near the center of the tent. "Gather around, please. I'd like to show you the mined gold we found here in the same room as the _Tajal Ut_. Without a doubt, these came from our mine." He picked up a sizeable nugget and held it in his palm. "The Mayans' extraction techniques were quite crude," he explained. "They basically chipped away at the gold veins in the mine, freeing loose pieces like this. I guess that explains why the majority of the gold ore appears untouched."

Before anyone could comment, Nancy became aware of a loud mechanical whine coming from somewhere north of their position. "What's that?" she asked.

"Sounds like a helicopter," Frank responded.

King frowned and stalked outside, violently moving the tent flap aside. Curious, the rest took his lead and craned their heads upward just as a helicopter came into view.

Nancy shielded her eyes as the chopper flew directly above them. It seemed to hover for several seconds, and then it moved away, heading north again. Nancy strained to catch some identifying marks on the helicopter's side, but she couldn't make out anything specific.

What she saw next made her blood run cold. Because she was already focused on the chopper, she had no problem making out the scene. As she watched, she could see someone opening the side door to lean out. All of a sudden, the person seemed to lose his balance—and then he was freefalling toward the ground!


	25. Chapter Twenty Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Oh my God!" The shocked cry was from the woman Joe had helped earlier. "Did that guy just fall to his death?"

No one replied, too stunned to even move. The helicopter paused for a long moment and slowly descended, as though searching for its departed passenger. After several minutes, it moved off.

"That was Edward Chan." Joe whipped around and stared at the person who had uttered the words. It was Emily Sturling. "That was Edward Chan!"

"What? How do you know?" Joe demanded.

"I saw him in the helicopter when it was closer. Now he's…dead!" Sturling suddenly went ashen under the bright sun, and she swayed and collapsed into Frank and Joe's arms. "I can't believe it."

Joe looked at his brother, the dread welling up. He hadn't gotten a good look at the passenger, but his worse suspicions were confirmed when Frank nodded tightly.

It took a while for Sturling to overcome her distress. She didn't pass out, but she seemed unaware of her surroundings. Joe briefly gazed around, noting that everyone seemed equally affected. Even Carole Lockman and Henry King appeared thunderstruck.

"What do we do now?" Joe asked Frank in a low voice. "Should we go look for him?"

Before Frank could reply, however, King spoke up. "I think we should head back. We have to tell the police what we saw and let them search for the body."

The group seemed to think this was a reasonable plan. The three detectives merely glanced at each other, but they raised no objections.

The trip back to the bus didn't seem to take as long as the outgoing one. Again, Joe found himself at the tail end of the group with Nancy and Frank. "You know," Nancy began thoughtfully after many minutes of silence, "John Honig told me he was going to accompany someone up to the mine site and that he'd meet us there."

"Right…so?" Joe asked, swatting away a whining mosquito from his ear.

"Maybe he was in the chopper with Chan."

Frank raised a brow. "Edward Chan did mention he had arranged for special transport to the mine site. I hadn't realized he was talking about a helicopter, but I suppose it makes sense. He would have needed to spend as much time as possible in the area, collecting samples and whatnot, before the investing bidding war began again. Going by helicopter would cut his travel time down significantly—and he'd be able to carry more equipment up to the site."

"We have to find out what happened up there," Nancy said determinedly. "And I think John Honig will know."

Frank nodded gravely. They continued following the twisting path that led to the road where their bus was waiting. Joe let the group get a little ahead of the three of them before turning to his brother and Nancy. "We haven't asked ourselves the most important question—do you think Edward Chan's fall was an accident?" he questioned.

Nancy turned a startled glance onto him. "You think he was murdered? Why do you ask that—because of Emily Sturling?"

"She obviously wanted him out of the way," Joe replied. "She even went so far as to send a few lackeys to put him in his place. Fortunately, Frank and I interrupted that little, uh, meeting."

"But would she resort to killing him?" Nancy pointed out. "That seems extreme."

"I don't know that it is," Frank murmured. "Her company, Gemsun, _is _in a lot of legal trouble right now—all because of the Prospectors of America. She confessed to us that she needs the revenue from this potential mine site to recoup her losses."

"So you think she orchestrated his fall from the helicopter?" Nancy wondered. "Hmmm. If John Honig was indeed on the chopper, could he be in cahoots with her?"

Frank nodded. "It's a possibility."

"All right, then," Nancy said. "We do really need to find John Honig."

They refrained from voicing further suspicions on the ride back to the resort. With Emily Sturling sitting so close, it would have been unduly reckless to speculate about her involvement. Since no one else was conversing, the return drive was silent except for the rumble of the bus engine and the occasional vehicle traveling in the opposite direction.

When they stepped down from the bus back at the resort, the three young people separated themselves from the others. "I saw John Honig drive himself here this morning," Nancy said softly as Joe led them into the lobby. "If he's in league with Sturling, he'll probably show up soon. I'm going to wait here, next to the entrance, for him."

Frank nodded. "If you don't mind the company, I'll stay with you."

Joe glanced between his brother and the girl detective. Nancy looked as though she was going to object, but apparently Frank's resolute expression convinced her she would have an uphill battle if she planned on disagreeing with him.

Joe bobbed his head, a scheme forming in his mind. "Good idea. You two stay here. I have other plans." Joe caught Nancy's blue eyes with his own. "By the way, Nancy, do you have your lock pick on you?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Can I borrow it for a bit?"

"I suppose." She frowned, reaching into her bag. After a few moments of poking around, she handed it to Joe. "You know, I don't understand how you two can be detectives and not have a lock pick."

Joe shrugged. "Must have misplaced mine."

Frank eyed him in a teasing manner. "Joe usually prefers the less subtle method of kicking the door in."

"Hey, it gets the job done," he said defensively. "But this time I don't want to attract that much attention to myself."

"What are you going to do?" Nancy questioned.

He smiled mysteriously. "Only something slightly illegal. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't go anywhere."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Nancy and Frank took up position in the lobby to wait. Parched after having been in the sun all morning, both eagerly drank the waters provided by the passing waiters, and then they each decided to order the resort's signature juice drink. They sat in relative silence for a while, sipping occasionally, giving the illusion that they had few cares in the world. It was not exactly the comfortable silence of the previous night, but it wasn't terribly awkward either. Looking over the rim of her glass at Frank, Nancy finally decided to break the slight tension between them. "What kind of work does your father do, Frank?" she asked.

Frank, Nancy observed, had been carefully scrutinizing the people that drifted in and out of his line of view, but now he shifted his eyes to take her in. They had talked a bit on the plane ride the day before, mostly about Bayport and River Heights, their friends, and a few memorable cases. More than once Nancy had heard Frank mention his father wistfully and proudly, but he had never elaborated on his line of work. Nancy had guessed he was in law enforcement, and she was curious to see if her hunch was correct.

"He's a detective," Frank told her after a moment.

"Oh, yeah? On the force?"

Frank shook his head. "Private."

"Wow," Nancy murmured, impressed. "Are you and Joe being groomed to become his partners?"

"Hardy, Hardy, and Hardy?" he returned, rolling his R's comically. Nancy smiled at him. "Who knows?" he said vaguely. "What about you?"

"My dad's a lawyer, as I pointed out before. I've thought about law but, honestly, detective work is more appealing to me right now."

Frank was about to say something, but he noticed something over her shoulder. Nancy turned and watched as Carole Lockman shepherded the investors through the door of a nearby restaurant, causing a bit of a commotion with the waiters when she announced she needed to use the private room for a business meeting. "Uh-oh. That looks serious. I think I should listen in on that," Frank said to Nancy.

Nancy nodded. "I'll wait here in case John Honig shows. And, no, I won't go anywhere," she added when Frank opened his mouth again. She watched Frank disappear into the restaurant as she continued to nurse her drink, keeping a vigilant lookout. There was no sign of Honig. After fifteen minutes, Nancy was surprised to see Frank returning her way. As he joined her, she noted that he had his laptop under one arm. "That was fast," she commented. "What happened?"

Frank was frowning. "It seems things are kicking into high gear. Carole Lockman wants to sell the land today."

"Today? Why?"

"Something about another buyer wanting in." Frank's frown revealed he thought that statement an untruth. "Emily Sturling picked up where she left off last night, asking the others to buy into Gemsun, and the investors have until tonight to make their decision."

"Why the sudden rush?"

"If I had to guess, I would say the investigation into Edward Chan's death is the catalyst." He gazed at her and nodded. "I can see you're having the same thoughts as me. There's definitely something fishy going on." He sat down next to her and turned his computer on. He appeared to be searching for something on the Internet, but the glare of the sun off the screen prevented Nancy from having a closer look. All Nancy could see was that Frank seemed particularly interested in some satellite maps. After a while, he tipped the screen down, sighing heavily.

"I still haven't seen John Honig," Nancy reported.

"I don't think I'm all that surprised," Frank said. "Lockman told us that Honig had gotten in touch with her as soon as the helicopter landed. Apparently, he _was_ on board with Edward Chan, and he went on to say that Chan's fall was accidental. He's on his way to talk to the authorities right now."

"Hmmm. I wish we could speak with him." She paused. "I agree with you. Something strange is going on. How did Sturling take the news?"

"Hard to tell. She still seems like she's in shock."

Nancy sighed deeply and set her drink down firmly. "What are we missing?" she wondered, to which Frank only shrugged. "You know, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Carole Lockman is somehow involved." She sat up a little taller. "Frank," she said urgently as a thought came to her, "may I use your computer while we wait for Joe?" Frank nodded and passed it to her. Nancy logged on to check her e-mail and was glad to find a new message from her father. She anxiously opened the missive, hoping he had looked into her request about Carole Lockman and her association with the Millers. After reading the brief note, she gasped and re-read it again.

"What's wrong, Nancy?" Frank questioned, concerned.

"I—I think we just caught a major break," Nancy murmured, moving her chair closer to Frank's. She glanced around, but couldn't see any of the investors in sight. "Remember how I was telling you how I got involved on this case? I was researching the finances of a development company in Chicago, and I was asked by one of the accused men to visit his sister, Daphne, in New York because she had received a threat."

"Which you decided was meant for Raya Alvarez," Frank put in.

"Right. I thought it was just coincidence that Daphne thought Raya was in trouble. But I think there's a connection between my case in Chicago and what's going on here."

"Well, spill it, Drew," Frank said, his voice just barely containing his anticipation. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"I wouldn't dare, Hardy," she replied solemnly, before grinning. "I had asked my dad to look into the Miller files—he's their lawyer. Daphne told me, before I left New York, that Carole Lockman works for the Millers. I was wondering if maybe Lockman was trying to sell Muyaxche under the table on behalf of the Millers and collect good on it." Frank nodded, following. "Well, it turns out the Millers _did_ own Muyaxche, but Lockman actually bought it from them for a pretty penny. She wanted to branch out on her own and develop an ecological resort here in Mexico."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe she realized there were archeological findings on the land, which would have hampered her building plans. What's even more interesting is that between the time she bought it and now, the Millers have had some major legal troubles. The CEO, a friend of my father, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's not too long ago. The investigation has just now revealed that some people in the company were using Miller's memory loss to their advantage."

"You mean some money was being embezzled from under his nose?"

Nancy nodded. "It would seem that way. His sons later took over the company, but the tracks had been well covered. In fact, most of this wouldn't have been discovered if one of their buildings had not caught fire."

"What?" Frank demanded. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No," Nancy responded. "It was a building under construction, and no one was around at the late hour. At first everyone thought it had burned because of shoddy workmanship, but my father tells me that it was in fact arson, and that the Chicago PD have the arsonist in custody. It was someone who was protesting the redevelopment of that neighborhood."

"All interesting," Frank told her. "But—"

"—what does it have to do with our case?" Nancy finished. "Let me tell you. In my research, I stumbled across a proposal from an external contractor who—I thought—was charging way too much for their service. Well, I was right. My dad learned that the actual bid was nowhere near that high. He did some investigating and learned that Carole Lockman had been in charge of that venture."

"So she skimmed off the excess money and pocketed it."

Nancy adjusted the computer on her lap. "Allegedly. My father has the police going over the evidence, but no arrest warrant has been issued for her yet. There are a few bigger fish to fry at the moment—some employees had apparently been embezzling quite liberally for some time now—but Lockman is definitely in their sights."

"Hmmm. Does she know that she's a suspect?"

Nancy lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Perhaps. Maybe that's why she's desperate to sell Muyaxche. She hopes to collect the money and… I'd like to say she's trying to replace what she took, but it's more likely she needs the money to disappear."

Frank sat back and thought for a moment. "All right. I buy that." He ran a hand through his thick hair, ruffling his locks. "How long ago do you think she began embezzling?"

"Less than a few weeks, according to the records. Why do you ask?"

Frank straightened abruptly. "I remember Tessa Russo, our client, telling us she knew about the potential of gold on Muyaxche a month ago."

"A month ago? So Lockman started embezzling _after_ she knew about the gold? That doesn't make sense. She should have been over the moon as soon as she realized she had hit it big." Nancy took a deep breath. "Why would she have needed to steal money? Is she really that greedy?"

Setting his glass down after taking a sip, Frank gave her a puzzled look. "That's a good question. She should have found it easy to borrow money from the bank."

"But instead she misappropriated funds from the Millers…" Nancy trailed off, her eyes sweeping over the sprawling lobby area. "Maybe to prepare Muyaxche for sale—for things like the chartered plane down here and the accommodations in this resort?"

"She does seem desperate to sell it," Frank told her. "You should have heard her just now."

"But why?" Nancy wondered.

"Did you see how anxious she was at the dig earlier?" Frank asked her. Nancy murmured her assent. "It's almost like she needs to get the land off her hands," he went on, his voice expressive. "Do you think there's something else on Muyaxche—some sort of undesirable feature that she's hiding from the investors?"

"Like something that would make the land unfit for sale?"

Frank looked at her with the unmistakable gleam of detective fervor. His grin was so infectious that Nancy found herself returning it. "That's an interesting possibility, don't you think?" After a moment, his smile faded slowly. "But we would need proof if we wanted to prevent tonight's takeover."

Nancy nodded, her mood also becoming more somber. "That means we have to get back to Muyaxche—before it's too late."


	26. Chapter Twenty Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Joe strode nonchalantly to the building complex that housed his room as well as that of Edward Chan. He paused in front of Chan's door, casually looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to him. A cleaning person was at the end of the walkway, bustling in and out of a room with linen. Joe fitted the lock pick into the keyhole and found himself struggling for several minutes before the door finally gave. "This is why I don't use lock picks," he grumbled under his breath. "Takes too long." Making a mental note to bone up on his lock picking skills, Joe stepped through the door.

Once inside, he quickly gazed around. The room hadn't been made yet. Joe could see Chan had spent the night there by his rumpled sheets and used towels in the bathroom.

A sickening sensation spread unexpectedly through Joe's body, and he leaned against the door for a moment to gather himself. Though he had put on a brave face when he was with Frank and Nancy, Joe now felt his professionalism slide for a moment. He had come across more than a few dead bodies in his career as an amateur detective, but he found himself hoping that Edward Chan was secretly alive. After all, he hadn't seen the person who had fallen from the helicopter—or if it was a person at all.

With that small ray of hope, Joe went over to the small dresser, noticing a bulky envelope addressed to Chan. Joe tore it open and shook out a set of keys and a folded note. The message was from the front desk, informing Chan that his rental vehicle was ready for pick-up. After a silent debate, Joe pocketed the keys and continued with his search. He was hoping for some definitive evidence that indicated Chan had been in that helicopter—a receipt, an itinerary, something. He had brought a great deal of paperwork, Joe observed, all related to Muyaxche. He had even gone so far as to hang an ordinance map of the area on dresser mirror. Joe looked at it for a moment, noticing someone had marked both the dig site and the mine with a red marker. It wasn't until Joe decided to peel the tape off to get a better look that he realized that there was something written on its back.

" 'Quickest method of travel is by helicopter. Honig to join'," Joe read. He stared at it for a long moment, the feeling of dread returning slightly. With a soft grunt, he folded the map carefully and it joined the keys already in his pocket.

The rest of his quick search revealed nothing suspicious. It was clear to Joe that Edward Chan was dedicated to preserving the environment, and that gold mining could be done in a safe manner as long as several precautions were taken. Chan had noted numerous places in his research how Emily Sturling and Gemsun had ignored such edicts, and he was obviously very concerned history would repeat itself in Mexico, a country with less strict mining laws.

With a last miserable look at the lonely possessions scattered around the room, Joe turned and exited through the door.

He found Nancy and Frank seated at one of the tables placed about the large lobby. As he joined them, he realized they were discussing the possibility of heading to Muyaxche.

"The trouble is—we don't have a vehicle," Frank was saying. "We'd have to rent one, but that could take a while to arrange."

"I'm back," Joe announced, subdued. Nancy and Frank, bent close together over Frank's laptop, each gave a start and sprang apart when Joe spoke. He reached out and dragged a nearby chair to their table and sat.

"Joe," Frank murmured, catching his look. "What have you been up to?"

"I had a peek at Edward Chan's room," Joe told them. "It looks like he joined John Honig in that helicopter."

Nancy nodded. "We know," she said, her tone gentle.

Joe was silent for a moment. "Guys," he began slowly, "what if Chan didn't fall? Do you think that whole helicopter thing could have been staged?"

Frank and Nancy looked at one another. "You know," Frank said finally, "I have to confess I was thinking the same thing."

"If that's the case," Joe went on, "I think Chan may be doing some investigating of his own right now—at Muyaxche."

"If Chan did stage his fall then John Honig must also be involved, right?" Nancy put in. "Even more of a reason for us to head back there. Frank and I were just discussing how to get to Muyaxche."

"I've managed to secure our transport," Joe interrupted. He looked at the two of them carefully. "You look like you've made some sort of breakthrough. What's going on?"

Frank cleared his throat. "Nancy and I do think there's more going on there than what we saw today." Joe listened as his brother explained about Nancy's case in Chicago and how it was related to their current situation. "We think Lockman is hiding something with respect to Muyaxche, and we have find out what it is before the land is sold and Lockman goes on the lam."

"But just how are you planning on getting us out there, Joe?" Nancy asked.

He smiled slowly and winked at her. "I have my ways." He pulled out Chan's keys for his rental from his pocket. "Behold."

"Joe," Nancy said, her voice skeptical, "what are those for?"

"Well, I suppose it would be too much to hope that they're keys to a souped-up Hummer, but if I had to guess I'd say we have access to a rental jeep." Nancy's lips did not even show a glimmer of a smile, and Joe inwardly scowled. _She's a tough one to charm_, he thought.

"Where did you get those?" she demanded.

He lost his teasing attitude. "Edward Chan's room." He edged closer to them. "I think he had been planning to drive out to get to the helicopter, but he must have been picked up here instead."

Nancy nodded. "By John Honig, likely."

Frank checked his watch. "If we're going to go, we should leave now."

"What—no lunch?" Joe protested.

Frank shook his head ruefully. "All right. Hit the buffet, but grab items you can eat on the way. The sooner we get out there and get proof, the sooner we can help Chan stop the land sale."

The detectives met in the front of the resort fifteen minutes later. Joe had dutifully filled a good portion of his sack with foodstuffs that were easily transportable—namely sandwiches and whole fruits. It seemed as though freshly made fajitas and mole chicken were the specialties of the day, but Joe had no choice but to forgo them. When he joined Frank and Nancy, he could see they were wondering which vehicle in the tiny lot belonged to Chan. Biting into an apple, Joe fished out the rental memo and read off the license plate.

"It _is_ a jeep," Nancy noted when they located their means of transportation. It was a small lightweight utility jeep with a thin tarp-like roof and four seats. It looked as though it had been well used and not washed recently as the high sides were spattered in mud.

"Am I good, or am I good?" Joe told her, waggling his brows. This time the edge of her mouth curled up just a little. Joe was about to get into the driver's seat when Frank put out an arm to stop him.

"I think I should drive," Frank announced. Joe opened his mouth to complain, but shut it again when Frank asked if he had been paying attention to the route on their trip earlier. When Joe conceded he hadn't, Frank unlocked the door and climbed in, saying that he had already looked up the route on the Internet and had already committed the landmarks to memory.

Nancy and Joe looked at each other for a moment. "You can ride shotgun," he said to her.

"You don't mind?"

He shook his head. "There's more room in the back. I can stretch out my legs."

"What a gentleman," she replied without any inflection in her voice, and Joe grinned at her.

"Let's go, guys," Frank said impatiently. He started the engine just as Nancy and Joe settled into their respective seats.

"They're not too big on safety here, huh?" Nancy murmured, holding her frayed seatbelt aloft.

"Oh, you probably won't need your seatbelt," Joe replied from behind her. "Frank's the most careful driver in the world."

Frank backed out of the lot in one smooth move. "Speed limit signs are posted for a reason," he said.

Joe leaned forward so he could better hear. "I take them merely as suggested guidelines."

"So do I," Nancy said to them. Joe could see Frank giving her a startled glance before turning his attention back to the road and pulling out onto the highway.

"Really?" Frank completed his turn and began to accelerate gradually. "I didn't figure you for a…"

"Reckless driver?" Nancy finished. She smiled, her dimples appearing. "I've gotten the odd ticket now and again," she admitted. "Always when I'm on a case—usually tailing someone. Once, actually, someone was tailing _me_—so getting pulled over by the police was a relief."

Joe questioned her for a while about her car—a blue Mustang, he learned—for some time, and then began telling her stories about the brothers' experiences with their van. Though Joe did most of the talking, he couldn't help but notice how Frank would glance her way every time she laughed.

Joe was astounded when they arrived at the turnoff much earlier than he had expected. He suspected Frank had indeed been pushing the speed limit, but he refrained from commenting. However, when Frank spun the wheel suddenly and headed into the bush, Joe spoke up. "Hey, Frank, I thought we had to walk from here."

"I think that's what Henry King wanted us to believe," Frank replied, shifting the gears. "But I was looking at the satellite maps and there appears to be a road here. It makes sense, too—some of the equipment at Muyaxche doesn't look as though it was easily carried."

Nancy rolled up her window as the branches laden with leaves brushed across the side of the jeep. "Some of these branches look permanently bowed," she observed. "You're right, Frank. Someone has been driving here recently."

The trip along the tight trail took a while, but not nearly as long as when they had had to walk. For the most part, the path was easily negotiable, but a few times the jeep gave a violent lurch when it heaved over a large root or a deep trough in the road. Finally, however, Joe spotted a clearing in the distance.

Frank suddenly slammed on the brakes, jolting them. Nancy's seatbelt creaked a little, but held. "Sorry. There's a fallen tree in the way. I guess we're parking here," he said.

The three detectives descended from the jeep and cut through the remaining trees, coming onto Muyaxche in the opposite corner they had appeared that morning. Everything looked the same as they had left it earlier.

"Let's split up," Nancy suggested after taking in the site with a sigh. "We'll cover more ground that way. I'm going over to the main tent to see if I can find any clues."

"We'll take the smaller tents by the back grids," Joe told her. "Call us if you find something."

"Will do," she promised. She stepped away from them, and Joe found himself watching her as she headed for the other side of the site. She tugged at her cloth hat with its large brim to secure it on her head, and her red-gold hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail. After a moment, Joe realized he wasn't the only one eyeing her conspicuously. Joe turned to his brother, catching his absorbed look in profile. "You like her, don't you?" Joe asked him as they began to move toward the far side of the area.

Frank craned his head around and narrowed his eyes. "Nancy? Well, she's a good detective."

"Frank, I didn't say you liked her detective abilities. I said you like _her_."

Frank stopped walking entirely to glare at him. "Just what are you're implying, Joe?"

"Only that you two are very similar…and that's probably why you feel a connection with her."

Frank appeared to think that over for a moment. "Maybe," he said quietly.

"Maybe," Joe snorted. "It's been a long time since I've seen you act quite like this. I know you, Frank, and I know there's something about Nancy that's gotten under your usually reserved façade."

Frank sighed sharply. "We're both spoken for, Joe. In fact, I—" He paused in mid-sentence and cocked his head. "Did you hear something?"

Joe nodded. "It came from over there." He pointed toward the large tent and listened for a bit. "I don't hear anything now. Maybe Nancy knocked something over."

Frank gazed in the direction the girl had taken. "Nancy?" he called. There was no reply. "Nancy!" He looked at Joe helplessly. "She should be able to hear us," he said quickly, already moving. "Something must have happened. Let's go."

It was all Joe could do to keep up with him. When they reached the tent flap, which fluttered slightly in the breeze, Frank stared at it for a second. "Nancy?" he called again. He pushed aside the fabric at the door and stepped in. Joe was about to follow him when he heard Frank let out a startled yell.

Joe darted inside the tent, cursing the seconds it took for his vision to adjust to the relative dark. He stepped forward and tripped on something, falling headlong onto the dusty ground. He twisted around and saw that Frank was also lying on the ground, panting. Suddenly Frank rolled sharply, narrowly escaping the swing of a shovel as it hit the place he had only just occupied.

Joe jumped to his feet, belatedly realizing that someone was wielding the shovel. As far as Joe could make out, it was a man with light brown hair and an ugly expression on his face. He attacked Frank again, this time catching him on his shoulder.

As soon as Joe heard his brother's painful cry, he launched himself at the assailant. His intention had been to land a well-placed kick on the man's shin, effectively getting him to break his stance, but he underestimated the man's skill with the shovel. Before his foot could strike its target, the end of the shovel had connected with his knee. Pain seared up into his thigh. Joe gritted his teeth as he set his leg back on the ground, and then too late he realized the man had shifted his grip on the shovel. The handle came flying unmercifully toward his head. There was an electrifying jarring sensation as it connected above his temple, and then Joe's world went black.


	27. Chapter Twenty Five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"Joe," Frank groaned, his eyes riveted to his brother. Joe lay unnaturally still, but Frank exhaled a sigh of relief when he realized Joe was still breathing. Frank lifted his gaze to the man standing over Joe's prone body; before he could move, however, the man had dashed outside.

Frank immediately tried to get to his feet to pursue him, but his shoulder protested violently. Grabbing it with his other hand, Frank eased himself over to his brother and assured himself that Joe was simply unconscious. He gingerly explored Joe's head with his fingers, but couldn't detect any area of bogginess. Though the shovel handle had struck him forcefully, Frank didn't think Joe had a fractured skull.

"Joe," he called softly. "It's Frank. Get up, Joe." Joe made a faint sound at that and twitched a little bit. Before Frank could continue his entreaties, the man returned again, this time brandishing a revolver.

"Back away from him," the man instructed.

Frank reluctantly did as he was asked, his eyes swaying between Joe and the guy. "What are you doing here, John Honig?" Frank asked pointedly.

The man started slightly, and then grinned. "Yep, it's me. The lovely Miss Drew must have told you about me, huh? I must say that I am surprised to find you two here with her, but you have become quite close, haven't you?"

"Where is she?" Frank burst out. "What have you done with her?"

Honig shrugged carelessly. "Miss Drew's welfare should be the least of your concerns. It's a pity she dragged you into this mess. Not only are you going to lose your money, but perhaps your life as well."

Frank's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"

Honig's eyes hardened. "I don't have time to explain everything to you. Get up and sit in that chair." Honig gestured with his gun toward a wooden chair in the corner of the tent. Frank, after weighing the pros and cons of rushing a man flaunting a gun, decided the wisest course of action would be to do as told. As soon as he sat, Honig came around to him and grabbed a length of nylon rope off a nearby table. He tied Frank to the chair, knotting the rope so tightly that Frank's wrists and ankles began to immediately complain. Frank bit back his grunt of pain, however.

"Where's Edward Chan?" Frank asked as Honig worked.

"Chan fell out of a helicopter," Honig replied vaguely.

Frank's stomach gave a lurch at Honig's uninterested and hard tone. "If that's true, you should be with the police, explaining the situation."

"That's right," Honig muttered. "And obviously I'm not. What does that tell you?"

"Someone's going to realize we're missing," Frank told him desperately.

"I'm sure someone will. But I'll be long gone by then. Now promise me you won't go anywhere," he intoned, testing Frank's bonds. "If you'll excuse me, your brother and Miss Drew have an important engagement."

As soon as he had finished with Frank, Honig tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants. He bent over Joe and, grabbing his legs, pulled him out of the tent. Frank winced as he saw the beating Joe's head was getting by bobbing freely on the ground. After a few minutes, he heard an engine starting. Then came the harsh sounds of metal on metal and glass breaking. Following that, Frank could hear an engine roaring off, and it faded into the ambience of the thick jungle.

Frank, who had immediately started struggling against the rope as soon as Honig had left, felt it slip a fraction of an inch. It was a long while before he was aware of it loosening again, and by that time he knew his wrists were extremely raw.

It was at that moment that he heard a second roar of an engine, and the sound of branches chafing a smooth surface, like a car window. Frowning, he listened carefully, hearing the engine switch off. He worked the rope urgently, having the distinct impression that he was being watched, but after wrenching his head as much as he could in his restrained position, he could see no one. After what he thought was ten minutes, he heard the engine restart and it, too, grew fainter until he could no longer hear it.

Even more resolved to get free, Frank began rocking the wooden chair back and forth. Once he had built up enough momentum, he decisively threw himself to the side, letting out a shuddering cry when his bad shoulder slammed into the ground. In addition to that sickening crush, he heard the satisfying sound of splintering wood. He gingerly moved his arms, and realized he had partially broken the chair's backrest.

It took another long set of minutes before he managed to work his hands free from the chair, but they were still tied together. However, he had enough slack that it was only a matter of time before his hands were completely unbound. He struggled briefly to untie his legs, and then he leapt up and out of the tent.

No one was in sight. Frank wasn't expecting anyone to be, but he'd had to see for himself. He jogged over to where he had parked the jeep, ignoring the jolt in his shoulder with each step, and gasped when he was greeted by an unexpected sight. The rental jeep's front end was thoroughly smashed, and the vehicle itself had been overturned. Frank swore under his breath, looking down at the path. Tire tracks indicated a vehicle had passed by recently, and Frank was willing to bet Honig had been at the wheel, with at least Joe aboard. The second vehicle puzzled him. Maybe…

Frank sucked in a breath, rushing back into tent. He searched it briefly and was stunned to find Nancy's hat abandoned on the ground. It was stained with a little blood, as was the nearby ground. Frank gritted his teeth. She'd been injured, that was for sure, but just how bad he couldn't tell.

He went back to the ruined jeep, opening the least damaged door. It took a small effort to wrench it free from the dented frame, and his shoulder throbbed with the movement. He retrieved his packsack and rummaged through it urgently. Finding what he wanted, he immediately flipped open his cell phone and was dismayed to see he had no signal. He stared at the flat blank screen for a moment before shutting it closed in frustration. After debating for a moment, he picked up the remaining bags belonging Nancy and Joe and bundled them together. Slinging the sacks over his good shoulder, he walked out into the sunlight and began to follow the tire tracks. He had no idea how far Honig was going, but he had no choice but to follow him. He knew it would take too long to run back to the main road in order to get help, and Honig's sinister voice had indicated time was running out.

Frank approximated he had walked nearly three miles before he came to a fork in the road. Wiping his damp locks from his forehead, he glared at both paths. Tire tracks were visible on each trail. Trying to call up a mental image of the satellite maps he had looked at on his computer earlier, he decided on the one heading west. He had a feeling Honig was heading for the cave with the mine. He hoped he was right.

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

Joe was semi-aware of what was going on in the tent. He knew Frank had bent over him at some point, but Joe couldn't will himself to respond at the time. He could hear the murmur of voices just at the edge of his consciousness but, try as he might, he couldn't focus properly. His headache did not improve at all when he was forcibly dragged outside, his head striking the ground every time he was pulled forward too roughly.

He knew he lost awareness after being hoisted into a vehicle of some sort. He had tried to keep himself awake by trying to absorb as many details about his position as possible, but the insistent sting in his head won out, and he succumbed to the darkness again.

Upon awakening later, Joe again felt the pain in his head before he was cognizant of anything else. It formed a heavy fog around his consciousness, and it was a long time before he realized he was lying facedown on a hard surface. With a Herculean effort, he cracked open his eyes and hissed as the daylight intensified his headache. He groaned, swallowing the wave of nausea that threatened to rise, and turned his head slowly to survey his surroundings. He was jammed between two seats, he could see. He tipped his head back delicately, trying to avoid angering it further, and could just make out large curved windows built into a mechanical door. It took several seconds before he very slowly realized that he was unceremoniously lying in the cramped quarters of a helicopter.

He was about ease himself into a sitting position when he became aware of voices nearby. He stilled reflexively, listening as best as he could. He hadn't heard anyone speak so far, and thus had the impression that the conversation was just beginning.

"What are you doing here?" asked a voice—a man, Joe realized. It didn't sound all that familiar to him.

"You had me worried," came a woman's voice. This voice was familiar to Joe, but he couldn't place it with the painful throbbing in his head taking up most of his attention. "I couldn't find that Drew girl on the resort, and so I immediately drove here. And then I got your message on my phone, but there was a lot of interference and I couldn't understand parts of it. I figured she might have come after you."

"Well, she did. Her and her friends."

"Friends?" questioned the woman. "Who?"

"Those young guys you described to me—the brothers Hardy, I believe. You know, I get the feeling they aren't investors at all."

"Do you think they're cops?"

"Maybe. I don't know," replied the man. "I left one of them back at the dig. If he saw you, I think his death warrant is signed."

Joe felt his heart leap into his throat, but then he heard the woman say, "He didn't see me."

"Good." The male voice sounded pleased. "Our plan is still salvageable. You know, I seriously considered shooting them all, but I think this plan is much better. When the authorities find their bodies in the explosion—a man and a woman with our IDs—we'll be declared officially dead. That will give us even more of an impetus to start our lives over with the money."

"Do you think the police are really going to buy that this helicopter crashed on a search mission for Edward Chan's body?" the woman asked.

"I really don't care," came the man's voice. "The police can think what they like. By the time they piece together everything, we'll be long gone." His harsh laugh reached Joe's ears, and he cringed at the foul noise.

"I didn't think we would have to resort to murder in order for this plan to work," the woman said. "Did Chan have to die?"

"Yes, he did," the man said vehemently. Joe drew in a shocked gasp at that. "It was the perfect distraction, don't you think? Those three showing up now was a bit of a shock, but thank God I can think on my feet. I've got it covered. You're not having seconds thought now, are you, hon?" the man asked, his voice laced with cruelty.

"Of course not."

"Good. Shouldn't you be getting back soon? The land is to be sold this evening, right?"

"Yes." The woman sounded sulky. "I need to go back."

"You should," the man agreed. "Go on, you get out of here. It will take me a little while to rig up the explosion. I'll take care of things on this end if you'll do your part."

"Of course I will. I'll meet you at the rendezvous point." Joe strained his ears, but the pair had moved out of earshot. Feeling slightly better than he had a few minutes ago, he lifted his head and got a better look at his environment. The voices had mentioned _bodies_; he was worried about who else was in the same predicament with him.

His heart turned over when he struggled to his knees carefully in order to make his way to the front of the helicopter. A man with dark hair was in the pilot's seat. Thinking that it was his brother, Joe stretched his hand out to shake him. The man's head moved listlessly, and his body was cold under his touch. It wasn't Frank, Joe noted grimly, and the man was obviously dead. He briefly scanned the body, not recognizing the man's face, and noticed a large abrasion to his neck. Joe was willing to bet that the man had been asphyxiated.

Joe turned away and sucked in a silent breath when he found Nancy Drew slumped in the co-pilot's chair, her head tilted away from him. Bracing himself on the armrest, Joe reached up to feel for a pulse and was relieved to hear her groan when he pressed his fingers into her neck. "Hey, am I glad to see you," he murmured. "Are you OK?" Nancy reached up to rub her eyes, and Joe noticed that she had a large trickle of drying blood across her forehead. "God, Nancy, what did they do to you?"

She turned in his direction and blinked at him a few times. "Frank?" she asked softly.

"Frank? Wow, you _did_ get a nasty thump on the head. No, it's Joe."

"Joe?"

"Joe Hardy," he replied, his own head starting to feel worse all of a sudden. "Frank's my brother, remember? What am I saying? You obviously remember him, though I don't know why, since I'm the more dashing, debonair—"

"Joe, where are you?" Nancy interrupted, her voice slightly panicked. She moved her hands in a beseeching manner, feeling the armrests of her seat and the control panel in front of her.

"Where am I? I'm crouched right next to you. And keep your voice down, Nancy. I don't think that goon has—"

"Joe, are we in the dark?" she asked urgently.

"In the dark? No. It's daylight. We're in a helicopter. We're also in serious danger, because—"

"I can't see."

"What?"

"I can't see, Joe," Nancy said frantically. "I'm blind!"


	28. Chapter Twenty Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Frank paused in his path and leaned against a little stone wall housing a small carved statue. He didn't recognize the symbols surrounding the statue, but they looked vaguely Mayan to him. He reached into his bag and withdrew a bottle of water, drinking it thirstily before forcing himself to stop and ration it. He didn't know how long he would have to continue wandering in the jungle, but there was nothing wrong with being conservative.

His thoughts returned to the events in the tent back at Muyaxche. If only he'd been quicker, if only he had disarmed Honig, if only… Frank knew he was starting to get obsessive, but he had relatively little else to occupy his mind so far. He had tried to think through the case, but he couldn't reliably come up with how John Honig fit into the picture. Frank suspected that Honig and Carole Lockman were partners, but Frank was sure Henry King was involved as well. And then there was that question of Emily Sturling, and her public dislike for Edward Chan.

As his mind touched on Chan's name, he felt a weighty sadness. His hope of finding Chan alive was dwindling quickly. Frank strongly suspected Honig of foul play, given his blithe attitude.

Frustrated, Frank stuffed the water bottle back into his pack, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His mind turned once again to its primary concern. He hoped Joe was OK. He hoped Nancy was OK, too. And somehow he was going to have to crush that pesky little thought—the one that reminded him that _she_ was probably all alone with his brother.

Frank straightened from the wall and began his trek anew. He had been walking about five minutes when he came upon a small break in the jungle. The elevation was changing, he noted, and the rocky slope was bare of trees. He was about to continue on when something caught his eye. A patch of bright blue seemed completely out of place among the throng of green plants and the dull gray of the rocks.

He approached the area of blue, and when he was close enough, he received quite a start. He realized he was looking at the body of Edward Chan. For a long moment, he remained where he was, unable to approach any closer. In his mind, he kept thinking how Chan had told him someone was out to get him. Though Chan had not really asked the Hardys to protect him, Frank felt as though he had failed. The feeling of guilt was unbearable, and Frank stood where he was, swallowing hard.

After a while, he managed to bring his logical self to the forefront and stepped up to Chan's body. Frank had seen dead bodies before, and while he had become slightly desensitized, it still shocked him to see a broken, twisted figure in death. Forensic science was a major he was toying with, but it was times like this that got him rethinking his university career.

Chan had fallen onto his back, his sightless gaze directed at the sky. His blue shirt was unbuttoned, and he had a light T-shirt underneath. Chan's legs, in khaki shorts, were all akimbo, and he was missing one sandal. Frank frowned, staring at his face, and then looked up. Chan had landed almost in the middle of the clearing, and Frank could see no obstruction from his likely starting point to where he had ended up. However, he noted, Chan's lower lip looked split. There was definitely a dried trickle of blood leaking out from the corner of his mouth. Frank bent down and inspected one of Chan's lifeless hands, taking care not to disturb anything. Though the man's nails were fairly short, Frank could see that at least two were chipped. The knuckles looked bruised, too, although Frank was less sure of that.

Frank opened his packsack and withdrew a small camera. It was not the tie clip camera he had used at the gala, but a regular digital one. He snapped a few photos of Chan's body, focusing particularly on the broken lip and fingernails.

"Chan was murdered," Frank said out loud, finally voicing his conclusion. Although he had discussed the possibility earlier with Joe and Nancy, he found it painful nonetheless. He hadn't realized how much he had been hoping Chan had staged his fall from the helicopter. After all, hadn't Chan only just spoken to him the night before—when he had been so full of energy because he was going to stop Emily Sturling from buying the land?

"You may still stop her," Frank said brokenly, his sad gaze lingering on Chan's body. "Once everyone learns about your death."

**o…o…o…O…o…o…o**

"Blind?" Joe echoed, staring at Nancy. "Are you sure?" He shook his head ruefully at his words. "You have a lot of blood on your face. Maybe some got in your eyes. Here, let me wipe it away." He stripped his T-shirt off, barely noticing the bruises on his arms and chest, and with as much tenderness as he could, gently swabbed Nancy's face until her eyes looked clean of the crimson fluid. "There—is that better?"

Nancy blinked open her eyes at him, and he immediately knew she was in trouble. Her eyes darted around, but she didn't seem to realize his exact position. "Joe…" she said softly.

"OK. You're going to be OK." _One crisis at a time_, he thought agitatedly, putting his shirt back on. "We have to get out of this helicopter. I get the distinct impression it's going to blow up shortly. We definitely don't want to be here when that happens."

"Blow up?" she repeated. "Who…?"

"I don't know," he replied. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Although Joe had been threatened with death before, he held a deep-seated terror of death by explosion that had more to do with how his girlfriend, Iola Morton, had died than anything else. He hated to think he was in the same situation, trapped and at the mercy of a deranged person who could easily press a button that would send his body flying into thousands of fiery little bits. He felt his skin getting clammy just thinking of it, and he knew he was close to losing control. He took a deep breath again, a little glad Nancy couldn't see him. He tried to focus on what information would help get them out of their current predicament.

"I heard some people talking," Joe said aloud. "A man and woman. Their voices sound like I should know them, especially the woman, but I couldn't place them." He looked out the window, fervently searching for any sign of the two people, but he could see nothing except a thick ring of trees surrounding the little clearing in which the helicopter was positioned. Suddenly, way over to one side, Joe spotted a large vehicle bearing some resemblance to a Humvee. Its front bumper was dented, he noticed, but otherwise it seemed in good condition. As he watched, he saw the engine spring to life, and then it moved off down a path. Joe squinted his eyes and could just make out a jeep bouncing ahead of the larger vehicle. Soon both were out of sight.

"John Honig hit me on the head," Nancy told him, bringing Joe back to his task. "I had just left you and Frank, and I walked into the big tent. All of a sudden it felt as though I was hit by a sledgehammer, and then I saw Honig standing over me before I went unconscious."

"It was a shovel," Joe said absently, trying to figure out how to open the side door and trying to keep thoughts of death by explosion out of his head. He straightened and stared at Nancy. "Wait a minute—_that_ was John Honig? What made him go all shovel-wielding crazy?"

"I don't know for sure, but I think he was hiding out here. I think he mentioned something about trying to lay low until tonight. I couldn't really concentrate with the pain."

"I know what you mean," Joe sympathized.

"Are you hurt?" Nancy asked, her voice strangely restrained.

"Just a little bump on my noggin," he replied airily. He frowned at the side helicopter door, and then looked swiftly at the other doors. He reached across the dead man to try the pilot's door, and then repeated his actions on the co-pilot's door, to no avail. The side door handle was missing and the other doors were locked. Joe briefly wondered if this helicopter had been the same one Edward Chan had fallen from, and he decided it was probably so. The side door handle had likely broken in his fall.

"Joe…" Nancy shifted in her seat, trying to locate him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just can't seem to get the doors open."

"What? Why?" Joe explained the situation to her. She was silent for a moment and then she said, "What if you tried to unlock the doors from the control panel? Then maybe we could force the doors open."

"Good thought," Joe replied, climbing closer to the pilot's seat again. He shifted the dead body aside slightly. "Boy, am I glad we're still on the ground. It's a good thing we don't have to fly this helicopter to safety," Joe told her in an effort to keep talking to keep her distracted—as well as himself.

"Why?" came her shaky inquiry.

"Because I don't know much about flying a bird this like. Frank's the pilot between us. I do, however, know everything there is to know about NASCAR racing."

"Oh, really? Well, that doesn't surprise me, given what I know about your personality so far."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joe asked defensively.

Nancy managed a small laugh, much to his relief. He was glad to realize Nancy wasn't given to hysterics. "Relax, Joe. It's a compliment. Racing, I gather, is about making effective snap decisions, while piloting requires the ability to calculate different outcomes given a certain scenario. I know because I'm a pilot myself."

"Well, this is our scenario right now. I don't think I can unlock these power locks unless the engine is on, and we have no way of doing that without the key." He searched the dead man's body, but found nothing. Joe sighed and saw Nancy's face turn toward him, her eyes questioning. "OK, let me try something else." He moved back and rammed his shoulder up against the metal of the side door, but it did nothing except make his headache worse. Nancy watched him worriedly, blinking dazedly but wincing every time he struck the door.

After a few minutes of that painful work, he flung himself down into the nearby seat with a frustrated groan. He was dimly aware of a pinch in his front pocket as he did so. Digging in his pocket to remove the offending item, Joe was surprised and pleased to see Nancy's lock pick in his hand. "I wonder, Nan—do you think you'd get your vision back if I kissed you?"

Nancy frowned, her eyes searching for him. "I'm sure some girls may have told you how amazing a kisser you are, Joe, but I highly doubt you can perform medical miracles."

"Well, let's see." Joe was amused to see Nancy pull away, a horrified look on her face. "I'm not going to kiss you—yet," he promised. "Let me see if I can get this door open first." Of course he couldn't jimmy the lock in this case, but the pick was strong enough to give him some leverage to use it as a door handle. He fitted it into the handle's hole and angled it down. It entered the gap easily. He pressed down carefully on the pick, feeling a give, and then slammed his shoulder as hard as he could into the side door. It immediately popped and slid open.

"It's a good thing there's no law against breaking and exiting," Joe quipped, pleased to breathe in the outside air. He turned around and helped Nancy out of the co-pilot's chair and around the tight corner until she was at the door. Jumping down first, he held his arms up for her and she stumbled into them as she climbed out of the door.

"What now?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes again.

"Can you see anything at all?" Joe questioned, holding her close. He looked back at the dead man in the pilot's seat and decided not to mention his presence. There was nothing he could do for him anyway, and Joe's first priority was to get Nancy to safety.

"Not really," she replied in a small voice. "Just a bit of light and shadows."

"OK, that's probably a good sign," Joe said reassuringly. "You still have some sight. C'mon, let's head for that thicket of trees over there while I gather our bearings." He took her arm firmly and carefully guided her to the chosen spot, all the while being vigilant for their attacker. He was under the impression that both the man and woman had left them momentarily, but from the conversation he'd overheard, he was sure the man would be back shortly.

Once under the cover of the trees, Joe had Nancy lean against the largest rough trunk while he scouted the area. He found a few sticks of dynamite and some gas canisters under the tail of the helicopter, but couldn't see a fuse. "That's what Honig went back for, I guess," Joe murmured to himself. He hobbled over to the road the vehicles had taken, his knee swollen from the blow it had received, but could not see much beyond the sharp bend in the path. After a while, he rejoined Nancy.

"Looks like it's just the two of us for now," he told her.

"Where's Frank?" she asked.

"I think he might be back at the dig. According to our captors, I think he's still alive and kicking." Joe swallowed before plastering a smile on his face that he belatedly remembered Nancy couldn't see.

"Hmmm," Nancy murmured. "Why would Honig want just the two of us in the helicopter?"

"I think he and the woman wanted to use us as decoys—I gather they want to fake their deaths and use our bodies as proof."

"And what do they plan to do to Frank?" Nancy wondered.

"I don't know."

"We have to find him," Nancy said meaningfully. "Let's head back to the dig."

"Easier said than done," Joe said to her. "That road, I'm sure, leads to Muyaxche, but I don't think we should follow it. That guy could come back any second, and I'd rather not be spotted on the open road. We'd be sitting ducks anyway, with my knee and your…" He let his voice fade away.

"Well, do we have any other choice?" Nancy pointed out. "It's not like we have a map."

That thought jogged Joe's memory. "Actually, we do." He pulled out Edward Chan's map from his pocket and stared at it. He frowned, seeing where Chan had indicated Muyaxche and the mine were located, and calculated that he and Nancy were east of both. He could barely make out the back roads, and decided the smartest thing to do would be to cut a route directly west, but staying away from the road where they might be seen.

Shoving the map back into pocket, he took Nancy's hand and pulled her into the depths of the jungle. It was very slow going, as he had predicted. His knee looked like it had stopped swelling, but it definitely wasn't happy to be put into such taxing action. Nancy, he could tell, was trying to put on a brave face, but her loss of sight was likely bothering her more than she let on. More than a few times he had to hang on to her lest she trip over some obstacle in the route. To make things worse, they were not following a path, but had to pick their way through the dense tropical forest.

Joe had lost track how long they had been walking when all of a sudden he had the sensation that someone was watching him. "Who's there?" he called out, standing protectively in front of Nancy.

The emerald leaves bowed in the breeze, and the jungle fell silent for a moment. He glanced around quickly, but realized he and Nancy were completely exposed. There was no way he could get them to an adequate cover in time. _I'm not going down without a fight_, he thought resolutely. He settled into an attack posture, saying, "Show yourself."

Truth be told, Joe was not expecting the unknown person to reveal his position. Half anticipating to feel a bullet any second, he didn't even flinch when he heard the sharp crack directly in front of him.


	29. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Frank stepped off the dry twig, its crack still reverberating in the air, and quickly jogged forward, just able to see Joe and Nancy standing still several feet in front of him. "Wow, you two are a sight for sore eyes," he panted as he joined them.

He noticed that Joe relaxed immediately upon catching sight of him, but Nancy, who seemed to be looking straight in his direction, had stiffened at his voice and leaned closer to his brother. "Joe…?" she started questioningly.

"Relax, Nan, it's Frank," Joe told her.

Frank frowned. "What's going on?" he asked in a puzzled voice, taking in the sizeable smear of blood on his brother's shirt.

Joe's gaze swiveled between Frank and Nancy. "Honig did a number on her," he said finally. "He hit her pretty hard on the head, and now she can't see."

"What?" Frank took Nancy's hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Can you see at all?"

"A little bit," she admitted. "I think my vision is getting better, actually."

Frank drew her close and ran his fingers tenderly through her hair. He could feel a large goose egg just above the nape of her neck. She hissed slightly as he touched it, but didn't pull away. He tipped her face back slowly and stared into her eyes. "Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Everything is too blurry," she said softly.

"Close your eyes for me, please," Frank commanded quietly. She did as he asked, and he explored the curve of her eyebrows and cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "Does that hurt?" he asked.

"No."

"Do you feel nauseous?" he asked.

"I get waves every now and then, but the feeling isn't coming as frequently anymore."

"I think you've got a concussion," he told her. He looked over at Joe. "We should get her to a hospital."

"No," Nancy said, her voice stronger. "We have to stop John Honig and whoever else is involved in this scheme. We have to prevent the land from being sold." She stepped out of Frank's embrace. "Besides, I think my sight has been definitely improving."

Joe eyed him helplessly, and Frank knew that he'd already had a similar conversation with Nancy—and lost. "OK," he conceded against his better judgment. "What do you suggest?"

"We've got to get to the mine site. I think that's where the answers are."

Frank exchanged another glance with Joe, who only shrugged. Frank nodded reluctantly. "I think that's where John Honig may turn up, too. We need his vehicle to get back to the city anyway—he totaled ours."

"What?" Nancy murmured. "Why would he do that?"

"To keep us here, maybe," Joe suggested, shrugging again. He seemed to gaze around him, and then he reached into his pocket for something. Frank was a little surprised to see him pull out a map. "From Edward Chan's room," he explained when Frank gave him a quizzical look.

Frank stepped closer to him, and he and Joe studied the map together for a moment before they decided on a route. As Joe folded up the paper once more, Frank handed Joe his packsack he had recovered from the jeep, and then he took a hold of Nancy's arm and began to direct her. "I've got your bag, Nancy," Frank told her, "but I'll hang on it to for now." Nancy murmured her thanks, and Frank could almost feel Joe watching them for a moment before following, but he refrained from making a comment.

It wasn't until they had been hiking for several minutes that Joe spoke again. "Frank, how did you find us anyway?"

Frank looked back at him a little sheepishly. "It was an accident, actually." He pushed aside a large frond, letting it swing back into place after Joe had passed it. "I took the wrong path, but I came upon a small elevation that let me see above most of the trees. As soon as I did, I spotted a big truck in the distance, and then the glint of sunlight on metal. I had the camera with me—you know, the one with the fantastic zoom?" Joe nodded at his words. "It was then I realized that I was looking at a helicopter. I just made a beeline in the jungle toward it, and then I bumped into you."

Joe nodded again, but appeared unsatisfied. "You're not telling us something," Joe said finally in a shrewd voice. "Like how you escaped."

Frank shrugged and explained his actions, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. Nancy squeezed his hand in silence as he did so, shaking her head as she listened. When he stopped talking, he could see Joe was still looking at him intently, and so he had no choice to tell them about Edward Chan's body. "He was definitely murdered," he finished sadly.

Joe nodded. "John Honig pretty much admitted that," he said quietly. He sighed, his look of guilt mirroring how Frank felt inside. The brothers gazed at each other painfully and silently for a long moment. After a while, Joe cleared his throat. "Honig's ruthless—and I'm sure the fact that we're about to uncover his secret makes him even more dangerous."

"All the more reason to stay out of his way for as long as possible," Nancy put in. "Why do you think he separated us in the first place?"

"He wanted to use our bodies as decoys," Joe told them. "He was planning on blowing up that helicopter with us inside to fake his death—and that of his female partner."

"What?" Frank demanded, a feeling of shock thrumming through his veins. Joe explained what he could remember from the moment he had regained consciousness. Frank nodded on hearing about the woman who had joined Honig. "She must have been driving the second vehicle I heard when I was tied up," Frank told them. As Joe wrapped his tale, Frank pushed aside his surprise, and focused on Nancy's earlier question. "If I had to guess," Frank surmised when Joe had finished speaking, "I think he wanted me alive to find your bodies—to lend credence to the fact that Honig and his partner could have died in the explosion, or at least to confuse the investigation."

Nancy shook her head. "Well, he failed—on both accounts." She made the gesture to rub her eyes once more, and as she did, she stumbled on a loose rock in the trail they were on. Frank steadied her immediately, ignoring the throb in his shoulder, but she seemed to sense his discomfort. "Would you mind if we stopped for a few minutes?" she asked, a little breathless.

"Not at all," Frank said graciously, guiding her to a nearby fallen log on which they could perch. Joe leaned against a trunk in their vicinity and hunted through his sack, eventually withdrawing a couple of bananas and some bottles of water, which he offered to them.

After taking a few minutes to refresh themselves, Nancy massaged her temples and sighed aloud. Frank gazed at her, his concern peaking again. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

She nodded. Frank didn't think she was going to say anything further, but she spoke again a long moment later. "Frank, Joe…do your parents know you two are here?" she questioned.

Frank glanced at Joe out of the corner of his eye. "Our father knows our flight schedule. Why do you ask?"

Nancy covered her eyes with her palms. "I wrote a couple of brief e-mails to my father, but I wasn't very precise about the details. He's in the middle of a large case—as you know—and I didn't want to divert his attention unnecessarily. I'm just wondering how long it will take for anyone to realize we're missing." She blew her breath out noisily. "I—I don't always keep my father or friends apprised of my difficult situations," she said in a low voice. "It seems arrogant, I know, but…maybe it stems from my desire to solve problems on my own."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Frank told her, moving a little closer. "It's what makes you succeed as a detective."

"A detective, sure. But what kind of daughter, friend—girlfriend—does that make me? I hate worrying everyone unnecessarily, and I hate needing to be rescued, but once in a while I do need help."

"Hey," Frank said gently. "Don't beat yourself up, OK? Joe and I feel the same way—maybe even more so, because we're guys. There's an inherent belief that we can take care of ourselves in all situations, which is definitely not the case."

Nancy raised her head briefly and immediately lowered it, but not before Frank caught a look of mild despair. "At least you two have each other."

Frank turned slightly and eyed Joe, searching for the right words, but Joe beat him to the chase. "Well, Nan, now you have us. We won't give up until all of us are safe again, got it? That's a promise—and feel free to hold us to it whenever you need to."

Frank laughed. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't put much stock in Joe's promises—he has been known to promise the sun and moon to any pretty girl—but I think he's actually being serious."

Frank wasn't sure what reaction to expect from Nancy—he half expected her to call him out when he described her as _pretty_. Instead, he was slightly humbled when Nancy looked in his direction and smiled. "Thanks, guys." She stood up swiftly and brushed herself off. "OK, let's keep moving. The sooner we get to the mine, the better."

"I agree." Joe swung his sack over his shoulder again. "I wouldn't want to be in this jungle past nightfall. We're going to need shelter."

"All right," Frank announced as they continued on their journey. "Since we have a bit of time on our hands until we reach our destination, we might as well summarize what we know so far."

"And brainstorm?" Nancy questioned with a smile. "We're still no closer to solving this than before."

"I feel like we're missing a huge piece," Frank acknowledged, nodding. "We know that John Honig is definitely involved—he killed Edward Chan."

"And he's got a female accomplice," Joe added.

"I'm willing to bet it's Carole Lockman," Frank said. "She's hiding something. Besides, Emily Sturling seemed way too surprised by Chan's death this morning—I don't think she orchestrated it. She can't be _that_ good an actor."

"I think you're right," Joe said. "Also, her goons, Trevor Stevens and his pal, didn't seem to have made the trip down with us." He paused slightly. "Now that I think about it, I _do_ think it was Lockman's voice I heard when I was in the helicopter with Nancy."

"But what's their connection?" Nancy wondered. "Honig works for Henry King—and we think King and Lockman are behind the theft of the _Tajal Ut_."

"All three must be working together," suggested Frank.

"Yes—but why?" Nancy inquired. "We know Lockman owns this land, and she asked King to excavate the Muyaxche ruins—which he did, with John Honig's help."

"And then Honig made this discovery that there was gold on the property," Joe inserted. "And subsequently he contacted several of his former prospecting colleagues in order to get a bid on the land. In the meantime, he and Professor King—and Raya Alvarez—came back almost two weeks ago."

"Right." Nancy tightened her grip on Frank's arm as her foot caught in a vine tangle. Straightening herself, she frowned. "And then Raya disappeared."

"Not too long after, King returned to New York to unveil the fake statue that he apparently found here at Muyaxche, which was conveniently stolen before Professor Ramirez could get a good look."

"And now Lockman's focus has turned to selling the land—she wants to get rid of it so badly that she's resorted to embezzlement to get money to make Muyaxche ready for purchase," Nancy finished.

"What are we missing?" Joe asked, frustrated. "What's so terrible on this land that Lockman needs to sell it right away?"

"And what happened to Raya Alvarez?" Nancy put in.

"We're going in circles," Frank observed, smiling a little when the other two turned to him sharply. "Not literally," he assured them. "I mean, in our speculations."

"Thanks for pointing that out," Joe retorted. He shook his head, and moved in front of them. "I'm going to scout ahead," he said. "I think we're coming up on a slight inclination in the terrain."

"Don't go too far," Frank called to him. Joe merely nodded, moving off. Frank shook his head silently, aware that Joe was tiring of their slow pace. Frank looked over at the reason for their unhurried speed, and noted that Nancy did seem to be getting a bit better. She was now actively batting away large branches out of her path, but Frank suspected that everything was still quite blurry for her.

They continued their hike for some time. At first Frank was happy to let the silence stretch voluntarily between them, but before long he imagined Nancy was merely running worst-case scenarios in her head. In an attempt to keep her slightly distracted, he decided to engage her in some dialogue. "Say, Nancy, how did you and your boyfriend meet?" he asked, hoping the question sounded conversational.

"How did I meet Ned? Oh, it's a funny story," Nancy said, her tone rich with memory. Frank doubted she heard anything odd in his voice. "I thought he was trying to steal my car."

"He's a car thief?" he asked incredulously.

"No, no," she denied with a small laugh. "I was mistaken. He was trying to move it to safety. I had parked too close—to a fire." She shook her head ruefully. "He's my knight in shining armor. Well, most of the time." She smiled up at him. "How about you and Callie? How did you meet?"

"Well—" Before Frank could elaborate, he caught the sight of movement ahead of him. He stiffened involuntarily before realizing it was the blond head of his brother. "What is it?" he asked as Joe neared them.

"I think we're pretty close to the mine now," Joe told them. "It's just beyond those trees."

"Is John Honig about?"

Joe shook his head. "I couldn't see a vehicle anywhere—but that doesn't mean he isn't around."

"What should we do?" Frank asked. "Stake out the place, looking for his truck? Or head into the mine?"

"The mine," Nancy said to them, her voice firm. "We didn't come all this way to turn back now."

"Nobody's turning back—" Frank started, but Nancy cut him off with a rude noise. "OK, the lady has spoken," he said to Joe. "Let's get to that cave."

Once at the line of trees Joe indicated, Frank held them back until he could make a decent survey of the area. The cave was clearly visible from their position, being located partway up a gentle slope. Its mouth was dark, but Frank recognized it from the photos Henry King had displayed the night before at dinner. "Well, this is encouraging," he said finally. "The mine _does_ exist."

"C'mon. Let's go before Honig shows up," urged Joe. He took one of Nancy's arms, and with Frank's help, they managed to get her up the tricky climb, navigating past thick shrubs and loose gravel. The entrance to the mine was just high enough to admit Frank, the taller of the brothers, without causing him to bend. Unfortunately, the opening of the cave lay to the east, opposite to the setting sun, and they couldn't see more than a few feet into the gloom. The cavern seemed quite substantial, however. Frank wouldn't have been surprised if it traveled a hundred feet or more through the hillside.

"Nancy, do you have your penlight with you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yep. In my bag. It won't do me much good, but take it out and tell me what you see."

Frank removed the penlight and immediately switched it on. He illuminated the rear of the cave, and his suspicions were confirmed. The cave seemed to stretch on; the light didn't reach a back wall as far as he could tell.

"What do you see?" Nancy asked.

"Nothing yet," he replied. He shone the light on the walls of the cave, expecting to see something, but he could only make out the craggy appearance of limestone that had been eroded by water. He angled the light further down, and something glittered back at him. Joe raised his brows and bent down, holding a sizeable gold nugget in his hand. "Well, it appears as though Joe has discovered some gold."

"A nugget," Joe explained. "Just lying here. And there's a few more up ahead."

Frank stepped up to the wall and studied it carefully. "But there are no gold veins that I can spot—not even on the ceiling."

"That's odd," Nancy murmured. "Do you think we have to go further into the cave?"

Joe shrugged in Frank's direction. "We might as well." He reached out to guide Nancy, and Frank carefully led the way, sweeping the penlight methodically as the three of them explored deeper into the cave. Occasionally the light would come up on conspicuous gold pieces, but still there was no evidence that indicated the cave had ever been a mine. After a while, even the gold pieces on the ground stopped.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Joe asked him as they moved to avoid a large puddle in the center of their path.

"That we've all been hoodwinked?" Frank returned. "That there really is no gold in this cave?"

"What?" Nancy muttered. "No gold? But what about the nuggets you found?"

"They seemed to have been strategically placed," Joe told her.

"Wait," Frank said suddenly. He moved the light beam aside and narrowed his eyes into the darkness. "I think there's some light up ahead."

"Light? From what?" asked Nancy.

"Let's find out," he replied. He returned the penlight to its former job of lighting the way, but after a few feet, he did notice that the ambient lighting was getting stronger on its own. Without warning, the cave suddenly took a sharp turn, and once again the trio had to carefully pick their way around a sizeable puddle.

Once they had negotiated the turn, Frank blinked his eyes, not believing what he saw. There, directly in front of him, the faint light of the setting sun shone into the middle of the limestone cave, touching on a slick surface of green algae on the rocky floor. From the water rose several substantial stalagmites, reaching up to the broken ceiling like giant pale fingers. Although the sight was impressive, it wasn't the natural beauty that had him gasping. In the middle of the pool of light lay a body—a body of a young woman.


	30. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Joe handed Nancy's arm to Frank and dashed over to the figure, ignoring his wet sneakers as he splashed through the shallow collection of greenish water. He was about to reach out to check for a pulse when the girl's eyes opened wide and she started screaming.

"Who's that?" Nancy asked, startled.

"Shhh," Joe murmured soothingly to the girl. "It's OK. We're friends. You're Raya Alvarez, aren't you?"

She quieted when he said her name and nodded. "That's right," she said, her voice terribly hoarse.

"Raya!" Nancy cried, trying to rush forward. Joe looked at her, concerned, but Frank had obviously anticipated her move and tightened his grip on Nancy before she could get very far.

"Hang on, Nan," Frank said to her. "Let me direct you to her."

Raya gazed wildly between the three of them, and Joe belated realized she was tied up. He kneeled behind her, trying to work the knots out with his fingers, but soon came to the conclusion that he would need to cut her bonds. As he raised his head to call out to his brother, Frank was already pulling out his trusty Swiss Army knife from his own bag and tossing it to him. The blade made short work of the rope, and Raya smiled at Joe gratefully, rubbing her raw wrists and ankles. "Do you have any water?" she croaked.

Joe reached into his bag and handed her his last bottle of water. She made a soft sound of joy and drank it all in one shot. As she did, Frank and Nancy weaved their way around the thick calcium deposits on the ground to join them.

"Raya?" Nancy tried again. She knelt before the girl on the ground and held out her hand beseechingly. "My name is Nancy Drew, and this is Frank and Joe Hardy. We've been looking for you. Daphne Miller asked me to find you."

"Daphne?" Raya gasped, lowering her drinking bottle. "Is she here?" she asked suddenly.

"No," Nancy replied. "I left her back in New York."

"Thank God," Raya murmured. She sat back and looked at the three of them, but her eyes finally settled on Nancy. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Nancy assured her. "Just a bump on the head, and a bit of blurry vision."

"We have to get the both of you to a hospital," Frank said quickly. "Have you been here all this time, Raya?"

The young woman shook her head, her matted black hair pulled back in a loosening braid. "No. John kept me at the dig site until last night, when I was moved here. I tried to escape a few times from him when we were at Muyaxche, but he thwarted my every move. I couldn't leave, and I couldn't send a message to anyone for help. At night, he tied me to the furniture in the big tent." She lowered her head into her hands. "It was horrible."

"Did he hurt you?" Joe demanded, feeling a sudden wave of protectiveness.

Raya shook her head again. "No, thankfully. I don't think John's capable of excessive violence."

"Oh yes, he is," Nancy replied harshly, rubbing her head.

Raya gazed at her, shocked clearly etched on her grimy features. "Was he the one who struck you?"

Joe glanced at his brother. "Actually, he attacked all three of us. He was planning on using Nancy and I as decoys to fake his own death, as well as that of Carole Lockman."

Raya's eyes enlarged. "Why would he do that?"

Nancy cleared her throat. "We were hoping you could tell us that. It has something to do with this alleged mine site, doesn't it? Honig has been telling people that he found gold here."

Raya got up to her feet gingerly, wincing as she put weight on her left ankle. "Gold?" she murmured, her voice mystified. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Joe stepped up next to her and offered his arm, which she took willingly. "Lean on me," he instructed. "Let's get you out of here." She accordingly braced her weight against him, but she wasn't a burden at all. She must have been just a little over five feet, and was quite slim, Joe noted. "Maybe you should start from the beginning," he suggested as they began to move toward the entrance.

"We know that you came here almost two months ago," Nancy put in, "to begin excavation on Muyaxche."

Joe looked back at her and saw that once again Frank was playing guide for Nancy. Joe held out his hand wordlessly, and Frank handed him the penlight, his gaze unreadable. As the four of them moved away from the diminishing sunlight of the cave chamber, Joe shone the light ahead so that they could see in the gathering darkness.

"That's right," Raya said in response to Nancy's statement. "Under the guidance of Professor King."

"Do you know why he was chosen to excavate here? I spoke with Alex Leon, and he told me King has no expertise in this area whatsoever."

"Oh, Alex," Raya said a little brokenly. She swallowed and continued with her tale. "That's right. Professor King has mainly worked on sites in New York. He was asked to excavate Muyaxche on behalf of Carole Lockman. She's a well-known benefactor for our department. I think she recently bought this land and was planning to develop it, but then she discovered that there were ruins on the property. She put her development plans on hold and got Professor King down here immediately to take a look."

"That was the first expedition," Nancy supplied.

"Yes. We didn't find much—just a set of houses and a workshop. Nothing terribly spectacular, but I thought it was interesting. I was considering writing a paper on our finds."

"Professor Ramirez indicated that King had closed up the site for the summer," Nancy prompted when Raya fell silent. "Why did you come back?"

Raya shook her head, squeezing Joe's upper arm as they maneuvered around a puddle. "Initially, Professor King told me that he'd found something in our original dig data, but he wouldn't tell me what. When we got here, he asked me to help 'stage' the dig—to make it look like our excavation was ongoing."

"Why would he want to do that?" Joe wondered.

"It had something to do with keeping the Mexican authorities at bay," Raya told them. "At least, that's what I think. We had a few officials come our way, but they seemed satisfied with what they saw." She paused for a few moments. "It wasn't until a couple of days after we arrived that I overheard John and Professor King talking about the land being put up for sale. I was outraged. I wanted to get a hold of Carole Lockman right away to prevent the sale, but then I realized it would be futile if she were the seller. I told John that I was going to contact the university to see what we could do, but he told me to mind my own business.

"I knew then that something was wrong—at that point we weren't really excavating anymore, but pretending. Before I could even think about where to turn to for help, John had imprisoned me on the site. For the first few days, he kept me virtually tied up and gagged in one of the back tents." Raya took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush. "I heard Professor King nearby the next day, but then he was gone. John untied me for longer periods of time after that, but yesterday evening he bound me again, forced me into his truck, and brought me here." She shuddered. "It was an awful night," she said softly. "John said he would be back today to let me go, but now I wonder if he was just lying."

"Hmmm," Nancy muttered finally, after absorbing Raya's story. "So you don't know that Professor King and John Honig claimed that this cave—" she gestured tentatively with her free arm—"is an ancient Mayan gold mine?"

"What?" Raya cried. "No, that's not possible. I had a good look at it yesterday, when John brought me here. This is merely a _cenote_, one of the many caves in the Yucatan with a sinkhole. There's definitely no evidence of an old gold mine here. I'd stake my life on it."

Frank nodded. "That's the dirty secret, then. King, Lockman, and Honig have been trying to pass this place off as an area for gold excavation—going to great lengths to convince potential investors that there is indeed gold here."

"Hence the strategic gold nuggets," Joe added.

"And that whole song and dance with the _Tajal Ut_," Nancy suggested. "The gala was really for the investors—and the fake statue was displayed solely for their benefit so that they could see some evidence that Muyaxche had gold on the land."

"It might have convinced them, too," Joe put in, "but Edward Chan was suspicious. He forced King and Lockman to change their plans—to delay the sale of the land until the investors could inspect the area."

"But why the 'staging' of the archeological site?" Frank asked.

"Probably to keep the Mexican authorities away," Nancy said. "The last thing our three criminals would want is for the authorities to get wind that there might be gold on the land—I doubt the sale would go unnoticed."

"And that's probably why Carole Lockman needed to embezzle money from that Chicago company," Frank told her. "Getting money from the bank would likely require some sort of verification, and she couldn't afford to have the cat out of the bag before the land was sold."

"We have to get back to stop it!" Nancy exclaimed abruptly. "What time is it?"

Joe glanced at his watch, the time face lighting up as he pressed a button. "Guys, I think we're too late," he said. "It's after nine o'clock."

"That's right," came a deep voice from the gloom. "You are too late."

Joe, startled, aimed the penlight forward, just catching sight of the figure of a man stepping out from the rocky wall. "It's Professor King," Joe announced, his voice reverberating loudly in the cave.

Henry King moved forward and clicked on his own high-powered flashlight. Joe narrowed his eyes into slits and was about to complain, but King had enough decency to shine the beam on the cave floor. "Yes, it's me." His hand holding the flashlight shook, and suddenly he was aiming it directly at Raya. "Oh, Raya. Am I glad to see you!"

Joe and Frank exchanged a shocked look as the professor dashed over to them and made a motion to embrace Raya. Joe just managed to pull her away, and glared at the man. "What's the meaning of this?" Joe asked gruffly, his fists tightening.

"I didn't know you were here," King explained to Raya. "John told me you'd gone back to New York the day before I left. I believed him!"

"You're the one who sent her the threatening letter on campus, aren't you?" Nancy asked pointedly, her voice sharp. "You thought she had preceded you back to Winchester."

King nodded. "I thought John had convinced you to keep quiet, Raya—and I just wanted to reinforce that message," King said quickly. "But then I realized you were nowhere to be seen at Winchester. It was then that John told me that you may have gone to visit family. But here you are! What did he do to you?"

Raya shook her head ruefully. "I've been tied up, mostly. Other than that, he's treated me fairly well."

"I didn't know," King repeated again, his voice remorseful. He shook his head. "This whole damned scheme has gotten out of hand."

"Why are you here?" Frank asked in a suspicious tone.

"I'm looking for Carole," King said to them. "She seemed so…different this morning. I got the feeling from her that she was keeping something from me. I was worried about Edward Chan, but she guaranteed me things would work out, and that the land would be sold by this evening. When I saw Chan fall out of that helicopter, I was floored. Carole seemed shaken up, but she recovered quickly—much quicker than I did." King let his shoulders slump. "I suddenly got the impression that perhaps Chan's death had been faked—to accelerate the land sale. When I couldn't find her on the resort this afternoon, I figured she would come to Muyaxche—to catch up with Chan and cut him in on the deal."

Joe could see Frank blinking in wonder at King. "Well, that's a completely wrong assumption," Frank said finally. "Edward Chan is dead. I saw his body."

"Dead?" King echoed. He sagged against the rock wall of the cave. "No. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Frank said firmly. "In fact, I think he was murdered."

"Murdered?" King moaned, looking around wildly. "I was just talking to him yesterday. Who killed him?"

"John Honig," Joe ground out.

"John?" King reacted as though he couldn't accept that. "Why would he have done that? It doesn't make any sense."

"He held me captive," Raya pointed out. "I think John has a side to him that we don't know about."

"That's right," came John Honig's voice from ahead of the group. Joe and King immediately shone their lights in his direction, and Honig came toward them slowly, displaying a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "And it's a side you will tell no one about." He reached behind him quickly, and pulled out a gun—aiming it squarely at Joe.


	31. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

From behind John Honig, Carole Lockman clicked her tongue. As she came into view, Frank could see she was smiling as well. "Well, fancy meeting all of you here," Lockman said in a pleasant voice, but her gaze was hard. "And you're absolutely right, Henry. It _is_ too late. Emily Sturling has convinced all the investors to pool their money into Gemsun, and we sold the land around dinnertime for an amazing sum. The money is being transferred into my account as we speak."

King made a funny sound from the back of his throat and surveyed his partners. "What's this about Edward Chan being murdered?" he asked finally.

Honig frowned at him for a moment before glancing over at Lockman. "You didn't tell him I killed Chan," he said in an odd voice.

"So you _did _kill him?" King asked incredulously. "I thought we agreed you were going to keep him captive until the land sale."

Honig sneered. "He got his hands on that helicopter. I wasn't expecting that. It's a good thing I caught up with him."

"But you told us he accidentally fell."

Honig shrugged. "So I lied. He suspected too much. Anyway, his death acted as the perfect distraction—it prevented the trek up here, didn't it? I can't believe you got suckered into bringing the investors to Muyaxche."

"It was Chan's doing."

"All the more reason he needed to be silenced." Honig raised his brows in King's direction, as though expecting another protest, but the professor held his tongue.

Joe, on the other hand, had clearly decided to pick up where King had left off. "What about the pilot? Why did you have to kill him?" Joe asked meaningfully.

"The pilot's dead, too?" King inquired, his voice rising.

Nancy, beside Frank, stiffened suddenly. He sensed she was trying to look in Joe's direction, but Joe was too busy keeping Honig in his sights to notice. Nancy made an astonished noise under her breath, and Frank had the impression Joe hadn't told her about his discovery of a dead body.

"Yes, I killed him," Honig told King. "Idiotic man! He panicked when Chan fell, and insisted we land immediately. I don't know what was going on in his head, but I couldn't convince him to keep flying. As soon as we landed, he pulled out a gun! I managed to knock it out of his hand, and then I choked him."

"Two deaths already," Henry King murmured. "I thought this was going to be an easy scheme—you promised no one would get hurt."

Honig shrugged again. "Some promises are meant to be broken. You know that." He waved his gun around in a tight circle. "Let's not just stand here and chat, OK? We have to get moving. Turn around," he instructed the group sternly. No one moved at first, and he released the safety in the gun with a click. "Start moving," he said menacingly.

King held back as the young people began to move further into the cave. Frank risked a look over his shoulder, and he could see King speaking in a low voice to Carole Lockman. Unfortunately, Frank was too far away to hear the nature of the conversation.

Suddenly, Nancy's penlight gave a spurt, and Joe tapped it in his palm. After a few seconds, it dimmed again. As soon as it did, Nancy tripped on an outcropping of stone, but Frank managed to tighten his grip of her on time.

"Oh, is the fear of the dark making you a little unsteady on your feet?" John Honig taunted.

"She can't see well," Joe shot back, his derision evident on his face. "Ever since you hit her on the head with your shovel."

"What?" Frank heard King murmur. He glanced back again, and noted that even Carole Lockman seemed concerned. She came up beside Nancy and watched her for a moment, and then handed Joe her own flashlight.

Nancy must have sensed what transpired, and she decided to ask a few of her own questions to Lockman. "Why did you agree to let me come along, if you knew I was a detective?" Nancy inquired.

Lockman's gaze went from hesitant to venomous in an instant. "It definitely wasn't in the plans—but what could I do when Daphne Miller called me out of the blue and asked me to bring you to Mexico? If I had refused, she might have mentioned something to her brothers, who might have looked into my accounts with the development company. I figured we could bring you here and silence you if necessary, with no one the wiser."

"So you're the one who sent the threatening note to Nancy yesterday," Frank said.

Lockman nodded. "You should have heeded it, too, you stupid girl. It would have made things a lot easier. How was I to know that you're the daughter of Carson Drew, that pesky lawyer the Millers hired? You're the one who put them onto me, aren't you?"

"Guilty," Nancy said curtly.

"I thought I was doing so well," Lockman groused. "That building fire in Chicago threw a bit of a wrench in my scheme—I didn't know that others had been embezzling from the company, too, and that the Millers' finances would begin to be scrutinized as a result. I guess a lot of people were taking advantage of Richard Miller while he was ill and still running the place."

Nancy nodded, looking as though an idea had just occurred to her. "That's why you've been on such a timeline. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered your little fraud." She tilted her head in Lockman's direction. "I bet you're the one who started that rumor that the Millers had been financing a terrorist organization, right? To muddy the focus of the investigation. You probably tipped off the press as well."

"Guilty," Lockman replied, mimicking Nancy's earlier response. "And it was working, too—except you had to spill the beans about Muyaxche to your big lawyer father. I got a call from my sister today saying the Chicago police are in the process of getting a subpoena issued for me."

"What I don't understand," Nancy continued, "is why you went to all this trouble to sell the land. The fake gold mine. Embezzling. So what if there are some Mayan ruins on the land? I'm sure you could develop the remaining land."

Lockman gave her a choked laugh. "Oh, if only it were that simple. That damned Richard Miller—he sold me this property at a pretty steep price. I put all my savings into it, and I still had to borrow from the bank. He told me it was a developer's dream—perfectly set up for an eco-resort. And what do I find when I get here? The water table is just under the ground! There's no way I could put down any substantial buildings—not without putting more money into this venture. I'm broke, my creditors are breathing down my neck—and the land is practically worthless!" Lockman practically spat out the last word. "When I came across the Mayan ruins, I thought perhaps an amazing discovery would make everything worthwhile, but Henry kindly informed me, after a preliminary excavation almost two months ago, that there was nothing here for me to recoup my losses."

"So you decided to hatch this gold mine plan," Frank theorized, nodding toward Honig. "It must have been _his_ idea, what with his experience as a prospector and all."

"Everyone played their part," Lockman said vaguely.

"Except that two people were murdered, and I had to be held captive for the better part of a week," Raya put in.

"All's well that ends well," Honig said evilly.

Nobody said anything until they came to the site where Frank had originally spotted Raya. Honig had them continue on for a few dozen more feet until they reached a sizeable circular sinkhole surrounded by relatively smooth walls. Frank gazed at the unfathomable watery surface of the hole, which only shone benignly under the beams of the flashlights.

"Poor Raya," Honig intoned. "You were released from your bonds—only to be tied up again." With that, he handed his gun over to Lockman and pulled out some rope from the packsack hanging over his shoulder.

Frank saw Joe tense as Honig approached Raya, but Lockman clucked her tongue in annoyance. "Don't try anything," she warned. She walked over to Nancy and yanked her out of Frank's grasp, leveling the gun at him before turning it onto Nancy. "Otherwise she gets it." Joe sighed, immediately relaxing.

Honig tied up Raya, and then Frank next. Frank bit back a painful groan when his ropes fell on the throbbing areas of his wrists—made raw by the earlier bonds Honig had tied. Lockman looked a little confused when Honig gestured for Joe to join him. "What's wrong?" Honig asked Lockman.

She frowned. "I thought we were going to take the blond kid and Nancy here back to the helicopter to fake our deaths."

"What?" demanded King.

Honig ignored him. "Nah. I was thinking it over—it'll be too complicated, especially in the dark. Besides, they somehow broke out earlier—and I know I had locked all the doors on them." He stood up and grabbed Joe's arm. "Let's just get rid of them here."

"OK," Lockman agreed, although Frank noted she didn't sound very convinced.

When Joe was thoroughly trussed, Honig stood up, presumably to bind Nancy. As he was about to do so, he turned to give Henry King a grin. "Anyway," said Honig, "I'm so glad we could all catch up like this. It makes it that much easier to get rid of all of you."

"All of us?" King repeated suspiciously.

Honig took the gun from Lockman's slow fingers and pointed it at King. "Yes, Henry. I mean you, too. Get over there."

"What's the meaning of this?" King demanded, looking perturbed.

"Carole and I have decided not to split the profits with you," Honig said simply. "Sorry, old man. You were a good professor, but you really haven't been carrying your weight around on this adventure."

"What do you mean?" King hissed. "I planned the gala where the original land sale was supposed to take place. I decided to keep the dig running while you were trying to establish the gold mine."

"Yes, true, true," Honig said in a placating manner. "Nevertheless, the gala was almost a bust. Our buddies Professor Ramirez and Alex Leon showed up and almost discovered that the statue was fake. You were supposed to keep them from being there," Honig accused, stepping closer to King. "I managed to keep Alex from coming down here on the second trip, didn't I, Henry?

"And the land sale _didn't_ occur during the gala, as I had predicted," Honig continued with a vehement growl. "Damn that Edward Chan! I don't know how he got wind of the possibility of gold here. I guess one of the people I contacted for the land sale brought him in. Once Chan learned of Emily Sturling's interest in Muyaxche, I knew it would be only a matter of time before he convinced the investors to see the place for themselves. It's a good thing I took some extra steps to convince them there really was gold here." Honig laughed mirthlessly. "You couldn't even think of a good reason to keep the investors from coming all the way to the cave. Again, if it hadn't been for my quick thinking in deciding to push Chan out of the helicopter, the scheme would have fizzled—and it would have been _your_ fault."

King looked at him meekly. "What do plan on doing to me?" he asked in a small voice.

Honig nodded toward his dropped sack several feet away. "Oh, I managed to get my hands on a few explosives—some dynamite and some more powerful stuff. It was going to lend some realism to the mine, and then I was going to use it to blow up the helicopter, but that was obviously not necessary. Fortunately, I recovered it—" Honig grinned wolfishly—"and you all are going to die in a horrific cave-in."

"No!" King burst out suddenly, startling Frank. From his vantage point near the sinkhole, he could see everything transpire clearly. King swung himself toward Honig in a rush of motion, and suddenly the two of them were on the ground, wrestling for the gun.

Lockman looked astounded, but she refrained from getting closer to the two struggling men. All of a sudden, a shot was squeezed off, and Frank caught a flash of sparks hitting the side of the cave harmlessly. There was a series of grunts and cries from the men, and it appeared as though Honig was getting the upper hand. He slowly angled the gun away from King, and Honig gave a little chuckle when he realized he was now aiming straight for Nancy.

"Drew!" Frank shouted desperately. "Get down!"

If Frank had been standing, he was sure his knees would have given out with anxiety. Nancy didn't even question his order, or even turn in his direction. She instantly threw herself on the ground, and the bullet meant for her hit the back wall with a loud echo.

Honig grunted again, trying to land a punch on King's jaw, and the gun swung around dizzily. King rolled over and managed to force Honig's gun hand above his head, on the ground. Too late, Frank realized that Honig was pointing the weapon toward his packsack. Before he could issue a warning, the gun went off, and then barely a second later, the pack containing the explosives blew up.

Frank held his breath as an enormous cloud of dust and heat obscured his vision. As it began to settle, he frantically searched for any sign of Nancy. To his great relief, he saw her near the far edge of the sinkhole, still lying in the same position she had been after he had called out to her. As he watched, she lifted her head carefully and cocked it, as if listening.

"Nancy!" Raya called from her position beside Frank. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I think so," she started to reply, but was almost drowned out by an ominous overhead cracking.

"That's not a good sign," Joe muttered.

"Drew," Frank called again. "We have to get out of here. Now, you're lying next to a pool. I want you to feel your way around the outside edge, moving toward my voice, and you'll find us." She nodded and slowly began crawling in their direction as Frank continued to talk to her. As he did, he let his eyes take in the rest of the scene. One flashlight has survived, he realized. In its dim light, he could make out Carole Lockman getting to her feet and coughing. She seemed to search the area wildly, and she gave a distressed cry and struggled over to a newly exposed part of the cave. She bent down and appeared to be tugging on something, and Frank realized she was trying to remove a large rock that had fallen on John Honig. Frank couldn't spot Henry King anywhere.

Nancy come upon them presently, but made a soft protesting sound when she realized Frank's arms and legs were bound. "Joe's got my knife," Frank said to her.

"I'm over here," Joe said. "The knife is in my back pocket."

"OK," Nancy murmured, crawling over to him. Frank watched as she tentatively explored Joe's back anatomy until she finally found the Swiss Army knife. "I've got it," she said.

"Good. Cut Joe free," Frank told her. He wanted to tell her to hurry as the ceiling was now starting to shower some dust, but he knew she was working as fast as she could.

Joe looked a little apprehensive about having his wrist bonds slit by someone who couldn't see well, but Nancy managed to have him free in a matter of minutes. He took the knife from her, and liberated his ankles, and then went on to cut Raya and Frank's ropes with lightning speed.

"Let's get out of here," Joe said, pulling Raya to her feet and starting to move toward the entrance. Before he could get far, however, the ceiling opened up a bit, sending rock and dirt pouring down next to the edge of the sinkhole closest to the cave exit.

Frank caught Joe's shoulder. "I don't think it's safe to go out that way," he said as another downfall of rocks slid in from the ground above.

"What do you suggest?" Joe demanded tersely.

"Through the sinkhole," Raya said before Frank could reply. "I spent the whole day here, and I'm sure there's a passage which leads directly outside. I could see sunlight coming from below."

"Do you think you can remember where the passage is?" Joe asked.

"I had the entire day with virtually no distractions to wonder whether John was ever going to come back for me. I had already mapped out an escape route in my head in case I needed it."

"That's good enough for me," Joe grunted as the ground trembled again. He jumped into the pool, and Raya followed quickly.

Frank grabbed Nancy's hand. "We have to go for a swim," he explained to her. Nancy looked like she was overwhelmed, and Frank pulled his shirt over his head.

"She can't see you, Frank," Joe called out to him. "There's no need to impress her."

"I'm trying make sure we don't get separated in the water," Frank retorted. He ripped a long strip from the hem of the shirt and tied one end to his wrist, taking care not to tie it too closely to where his skin was already tender from being tied up earlier. The other end he attached to Nancy's arm. After having done so, he tucked his shirt back into his bag and eased himself into the cool water, talking Nancy through the motions.

"What about the others?" Nancy questioned softly.

Frank craned his head around to look for Lockman, King, and Honig, but the falling debris obscured his view. He shook his head slightly and called out to them. "There's a passage through the sinkhole!" he yelled. "C'mon, you have to get out now!" There were several moments of silence, followed by another rocky cascade. "No one is answering," he told Nancy. "I can't see what's happening in that direction."

Nancy nodded silently, and Frank tugged her toward Joe and Raya, who were treading water nearby. When all four of them were grouped together again, Raya pointed to the edge near the back of the cave. "I can't imagine it being a very long passage," she said, "especially since I know I saw sunlight coming from that direction."

"Big breath anyway," Frank told them. Another cracking sound ensued, and large pieces of land splattered into the far end of the sinkhole, and also near the land exit of the cave.

Raya and Joe disappeared under the water. Frank hesitated only a few seconds to make sure Nancy understood the plan, and then they both took as deep a breath as they could before slipping under the surface.

Frank expected the passageway to be completely dark, and he was startled to see it lit up slightly. As he followed Joe's kicking legs, Frank realized that some of the rocks must have been lined with phosphorescent bacteria. Although they emitted a very faint light, it was just enough to see by.

Frank felt the fabric between him and Nancy stretch a bit, and he turned, trying to grab her wrist. As he was attempting to direct her, he noticed that the rocks above were now falling much closer to them, making large underwater splashes as they tumbled into the pool. He yanked hard on the tie between them, ignoring his injured shoulder and fairly pulling Nancy along.

His lungs burning, Frank propelled himself and Nancy forward. It took a second before he noticed there was more light now. He looked up and saw Joe breaking the surface of the water. Without any further thought, Frank swam frantically for the surface, too, gulping in a large breath of sweet air when he was able. As he did, Nancy came up beside him, also gasping.

"We did it," he breathed in her ear, catching her around the waist and keeping her buoyant. "We're outside. I can see the moon."

"Are we safe?" Nancy coughed, holding him tightly.

He looked at her face in the moonlight, blinking as a dripping lock of hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. He angled his head, trying to get the offending strands to move aside without using his hands—one arm was treading water to keep them afloat, and he was damned if he was going to let go of Nancy. She smiled at him suddenly, and a feeling of relief spread through him when she purposefully reached up to sweep the hair off his brow with nimbleness, the makeshift bond between their hands stretching between them. She eyed him questioningly.

"We're safe," Frank agreed.


	32. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

Nancy, now that she was outside again, realized she could see more than she had for the past hour or so. Her vision was still a little bit blurry, but it was definitely a marked improvement from when she'd woken up in the helicopter hours before. However, her headache, which had abated considerably during their jungle trek, had returned slightly with the exertion of swimming. She let Frank guide her to the edge of the pool and she pulled herself up on land between some prickly bushes, still coughing. As the group caught their collective breaths, Nancy was aware that the hillside containing the cavern was quickly disintegrating into itself.

"Do you think those three could have survived that?" she asked when the rocky deluge seemed to have finally stopped.

Frank, beside her, shrugged. "I don't know. I doubt it," he added somberly.

"We'd need Search and Rescue in any case," Joe put in. "And we have to get to the authorities for that."

Nancy nodded, taking the hand Frank offered her as he pulled her to her feet and untied their wrists. "Do you guys see a vehicle?"

"No, but I'm betting they parked nearby," Joe said. "I think all three criminals made their way here separately, but King was the last to show."

Frank agreed, and the group slowly picked their way back to where they thought the entrance of the cave was located. Before they came to it, however, Joe spotted a jeep in the distance. As the group drew even with the vehicle, Joe groaned. "The tires have been slashed," he reported. "I'll bet this belongs to Henry King. Lockman and Honig must have been waiting for him to appear, and then disabled his jeep as he went into the cave so he wouldn't be able to leave."

"So the decision to cut him out of the deal wasn't made on the spur of the moment at all," Frank murmured. "All right, keep an eye out for any other vehicles."

Raya spotted a military-like truck not too far away, almost completely concealed by the jungle. "This is Honig's ride," Joe told them. "I recognize it from when I was in the helicopter."

"What about Lockman's?" Nancy wondered. "Do you see it nearby?"

A cursory search revealed nothing. "She probably met Honig back at Muyaxche and they decided to come here together," Frank speculated. "That's too bad, because we need to take this truck in order to get back—which means, if anyone survived, there'll be no quick way out of the jungle."

"I'm fine with that," Joe said decisively. "They killed Edward Chan, and they were planning on leaving us here."

Nancy wasn't sure how the brothers managed to start the truck, but she had a sneaking suspicion Joe had hot-wired it. Frank sat beside her in the back seat, seemingly remaining calm although Nancy was sure he wanted to comment on Joe's punishing pace. They were out on the main highway in less than an hour, Nancy was sure. A little later, she joined in the discussion about where they should stop for help. Frank wanted to get her and Raya to a hospital right away at the first small town, but Raya and Nancy both disagreed, saying their injuries could wait. Joe suggested driving back to Cancun so that they could at least get to the embassy. All four seemed to think that was the most logical idea, and so they found themselves arriving in the city a couple of hours later.

It was at this point that Nancy argued that it would be better if they split up. She had a hunch, seeing as it was the middle of the night, that they would have a hard time trying to get a hold of someone at the consulate. "I think Raya and I should seek medical attention," she said to Frank. "I'll leave it to you to straighten things out about Muyaxche."

He nodded slowly. "All right. Where shall we meet?"

"Back at the resort is probably the easiest," Nancy told him.

The Hardys saw them into the Emergency Room waiting area, but indeed left at Nancy's urging. She and Raya ended up spending the remainder of the night in the hospital. Although Nancy's medical Spanish was limited, she gathered the doctors were concerned given her transient loss of sight. She willingly agreed to their tests and stayed to learn the results, but she was more than a little frustrated when she and Raya were finally discharged much later in the morning with no clear diagnosis. The hospital staff was nice enough to recommend a reputable taxi service, but it wasn't until nearly noon that Nancy and Raya made it back to the resort. The first thing Raya did was claim she needed a bath.

"Oh, never have I craved a shower so badly in my life," Raya said to Nancy afterward, closing her eyes blissfully as she shook out her newly washed hair in the warm afternoon air. "I'm used to working in the field and roughing it, but the past twenty-four hours have been something else."

"I know what you mean," Nancy agreed. After jumping in the shower herself, she dressed and made her way next-door to the Hardys' room. She knocked a few times, but realized they hadn't come back yet. She slipped a note under their door, and when she returned to her own room she realized Raya had stretched out on the suite's second bed and was sound asleep. Nancy smiled a little and decided to do the same. She'd slept fitfully in the hospital, but she knew she was still exhausted.

She was awoken a few hours later by an insistent knock on the door. Muttering under her breath, she wrenched the door open and came face-to-face with Frank and Joe. "Oh, you're back. Everything OK?"

Joe rolled his eyes at Frank. "See? The girls are fine. I'm going to get cleaned up," he announced. With that, he strode away.

Frank stared at Nancy for a long moment, then turned his gaze in the direction of Joe's departing back. "We have to chat," he said to her, "but we should probably wait until we're all together—and more presentable."

Nancy looked him up and down, her much improved sight taking in his rumpled pants, the fraying hem of his shirt, and his water-curled hair falling across his forehead. She smiled fondly. "Sure, sounds good. Just knock when you're set."

Both Nancy and Raya were ready when the brothers called again. This time, Nancy noted, they looked worlds better, with clean clothes and washed hair. Frank seemed prepared to start the conversation right then and there in the room, but Joe dragged them down to the beach so they could all enjoy the late afternoon sunshine.

"What did the embassy say?" Nancy asked immediately as soon they had taken up their positions on some lounge chairs.

"Well, at first they didn't believe us," Joe conceded, his blue eyes revealing a spark of exasperation. "I mean, I guess our story did sound a bit fantastic, especially in the wee hours of the morning. Eventually Frank managed to get through to someone when he mentioned Edward Chan a few times."

Frank nodded. "Apparently Chan had visited the embassy upon his arrival and tried to convince the authorities that something was going on. As Joe said, no one wanted to listen to us initially, but the authorities finally agreed to an investigation—after I showed them my photos of Chan's body."

Nancy raised a brow at him. "The pictures survived?" she questioned. "I would have thought your camera would have been useless after being in the water."

Frank shrugged. "It's an underwater camera. Worked like a charm."

"Frank and I went back to Muyaxche this morning with the investigators," Joe went on. "And up to the cave. As far as we can tell, no one made it out. The Mexican officials are sifting through the rubble for survivors. They collected Chan's body and that of the pilot, though."

"What about Emily Sturling and Gemsun?" Nancy wondered. "Did the money really go through to Carole Lockman?"

Frank shrugged again. "Probably. We found out that Sturling went back to the States early this morning. The embassy promised to get in touch with her to learn more about the land sale. She may be able to get her money back, even in the event Lockman is still missing or declared dead."

"That's good news," Nancy enthused. "That means the investors you're representing might not lose any money on this horrible venture."

"I talked to Martin Ivers and Tessa Russo already," Frank told her, "and I explained the situation. They seemed satisfied that Sturling would return their investments." He turned to his brother. "Tessa Russo knows we haven't cashed her check yet, Joe. I say we do so as soon as we get back home—and donate the money to a non-profit environmental group in honor of Edward Chan."

Joe nodded. "I like that idea," he said. He caught Nancy's little pleased smile before she could hide it. "What?" he demanded. "I think it's fitting."

Nancy lowered her eyes demurely. "Well, I guess there _was_ gold at Muyaxche all along," she said.

"What do you mean?" Joe asked, looking puzzled.

"You two obviously have…hearts of gold."

Joe groaned at her wisecrack, rolling his eyes. "Anyway," he went on, clearly trying to change the subject, "what about you two? Everything turn out OK at the hospital?"

"Yep," Nancy said quickly.

"I got a clean bill of health," Raya told them, smoothing her shiny locks. "Just a bit of dehydration, starvation, and fatigue. Nothing a night in a Mayan Riviera resort can't fix."

"Hear, hear," Joe cheered. Nancy noted the appreciative glance he directed toward the dark-haired girl. "I know where we can find something to eat. Come with me." He took Raya's hand and steered her over to a nearby restaurant, which from Nancy could hear people chatting as they sampled the dinner buffet.

Nancy and Frank watched the two of them disappear, Frank merely shaking his head. Finally, he turned toward her, and Nancy felt her pulse speed up slightly. "Nancy, what did the doctor say about your eyesight?" Frank wondered, his voice gentle.

She smiled at him, inwardly touched that he was still concerned about her. "It's almost back to normal now," she replied. "She told me it was probably from swelling around the optic nerve, or something like that, and that the fact that my vision is getting better means the swelling is going down." Frank opened his mouth as if to add something, but Nancy had a feeling what he was going to say. "Don't worry, Hardy, I promise I'll get a thorough check-up the minute I get back home."

"Good."

They joined Joe and Raya for dinner, and then the group claimed a set of comfy chairs and a table in the open-air jazz lounge. The three detectives took turns explaining to Raya the series of events that had led to their finding her. They were all chuckling over one of Joe's little jokes when Nancy became aware of a hobbling figure making its way over to them.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," came his low voice as he came up to the group.

"Alex!" cried Raya, standing up and rushing over to him to throw her arms around his neck, causing him to rock back on his crutches a little. "What are you doing here?"

"What a greeting!" Alex Leon grinned. "I think I came all this way for that."

Raya pulled back, looking puzzled. "I don't understand."

"I came with the intention of rescuing you, but obviously I'm a little too late. Oh well. Can I get a kiss with that hug anyway?"

"Oh, you!" Raya squealed. She obliged him, and then both of them pulled away after a moment, looking red. Joe pulled up an extra seat for Alex, and he settled stiffly into it, putting his crutches aside. "I was just being informed on the details of my rescue," Raya told Alex.

Alex listened in amazement as Nancy and the Hardys described what had occurred since they arrived at the resort two days ago. Alex seemed quite distressed to learn his colleagues had been caught in a rock fall, but he was definitely glad Raya had made it out in one piece.

"You know, there's one thing I still don't understand," Alex said thoughtfully. "Who pushed you down the stairs that day I met you, Nancy?"

Nancy looked at him wryly. "At the time, I thought perhaps that incident on the stairs was directed at me because I was asking too many questions, but now…I actually think _you_ were the one who was targeted and I just happen to be there."

Alex looked shocked. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I really hadn't made an impression on King and Lockman at that point—they probably didn't know about me. I erroneously jumped to conclusions—" Nancy glanced toward the Hardys—"and thought I was the one under attack." She cleared her throat, avoiding Joe's offended look. "But it was you they were after all along, even the accident where you broke your leg. Can you describe the details of that to me? You were riding your bike, correct?"

"Yep. I usually ride my bike from my place to the university. Well, one day I was heading home—and what do you know? This car comes out of nowhere and tries to pass me. Then suddenly the driver turned toward me, and cut me off! I mean, there was hardly any traffic. Anyway, I hit the curb and my leg broke my fall," he finished with a grin at his wit.

Nancy looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you wear anything distinctive—like a helmet or something?"

"Well, yes," he said slowly, running his fingers through his dark hair.

"It's a neon blue helmet," Raya added quickly, earning a pleasantly surprised look from Alex.

"Yes, that's right," he continued. "I guess it's distinctive. I also wear my biking pants with special reflective stripes—I like them because the hems have reinforced elastic to keep cold air from coming up the legs. But I love the pants so much that I wear them almost all the time. I suppose everyone on campus can identify me by those."

"Hmm…" Nancy sighed softly. "I hate to tell you this, Alex, but it definitely sounds like they wanted to get rid of you. King and Honig couldn't have you go on that second trip, and they made sure of that by trying to injure you. I would guess John Honig was behind that—he seemed to admit it when we were back in the cave."

"But why?"

"It probably would have been difficult to keep the mine scheme a secret with you around," Nancy told him. "Having a crack archeologist on site would have ruined their plans."

"Well, I'm not exactly a 'crack' archeologist," he began modestly.

Raya cut him off. "What do you mean? You knew the _Tajal Ut_ was a fake within seconds, didn't you?"

"Well…minutes," he hedged.

Nancy laughed. "Anyway, I think Henry King was the one who tried to push you down the stairs. I remember now—you had just given your gala RSVP to his secretary, Joanne, and then we left your office and subsequently we were shoved in the stairwell. Later, I learned Joanne had talked to King after you called her. I'm sure King must have panicked when he heard you were coming to the gala, knowing you could ID the statue as a fake. He probably came right over and engineered the whole 'elevator out-of-order' scheme, and then waited for us to use the stairs."

"So he wanted to injure me further so I would be out of commission for the gala?" Alex finished.

Nancy nodded. "Probably."

"And he was the one who broke into Professor Ramirez's rooms," Joe added. "He probably wanted Ramirez to be occupied with something else in case he had been planning to come to gala."

"But both of you showed up in the end," Frank said. "That's why he needed to get that statue out of there. He only needed it to convince the investors about the gold, but having you two take a closer look would have exposed the scheme prematurely."

"It's just so incredible," Alex said, his voice awed. "And to think none of us would have been the wiser if you hadn't disappeared, Raya." He hung his head a little. "Actually, I didn't even think you were missing. I thought you had gotten too busy in your excavation here and you had finally given up on your e-mails."

Raya patted his hand sympathetically. "It's all right. It was a reasonable assumption to make."

"It's a good thing Professor King sent that threatening letter to you," Nancy put in. "That's what _really_ made Daphne suspicious."

"I guess we have Daphne to thank for everything," Alex murmured, a slow smile coming across his face as he looked at Raya. "I talked to her yesterday—she's the one who insisted I come down here. She mentioned something about you mentioning me fondly in your e-mails earlier in the summer?"

Raya's lips parted, but before she could say anything, Nancy got to her feet. "We'll leave you two, then. I'm sure you have some things to discuss."

With that, Nancy and the Hardys moved away, heading for the beach. Before they could get too far, however, the trio was stopped by two middle-aged men dressed in formal attire. Frank and Joe seemed to recognize the pair; they introduced Nancy to an embassy official and someone representing the Mexican police. The men explained they only wanted her statement, and she gave it to them willingly. Although the authorities remained fairly tight-lipped during the interview, they did say they still had not found any bodies in the cave-in.

The officials left shortly thereafter, indicating that the young people were free to return home the next day. Nancy turned toward her companions, but before she could say anything, a giant yawn overtook her without warning. Nancy looked at the brothers apologetically. "Sorry. I think I still need a good night's sleep. Hope you don't mind if I duck out early."

"Nope," Joe told her. "Have a good night."

Frank nodded, holding her gaze for a long moment, but remained silent. Nancy made her way back to her room, her mind in a bit of turmoil. As soon as she unlocked the door, she placed a call to her father. To her relief, he answered immediately. After a serious scolding about her disregard for her safety, he relented and informed her about his case against Lockman in Chicago. "We should be able to recover the money she received from the investors," he said. "But the Millers aren't seeking monetary compensation from her. Her presumed death has been met with shock here. She was a good employee, apparently."

Nancy made a noncommittal sound, and steered the conversation to more personal matters. When she hung up, she felt better. She hated worrying her father, but she knew he was proud of her.

Nancy debated whether or not to call Daphne, but decided against it. Raya had already called her before they had gone down for dinner, and Nancy had nothing new to add. Daphne had mentioned she was flying out to Chicago to be with her brothers, and Nancy promised herself that she would get in touch with the Millers as soon as she was back in the States. _I guess I fulfilled my promise to Thomas Miller to bring his sister home,_ Nancy thought wryly, _although I'm not responsible for her return in the least._

Next, she tried to call her boyfriend, Ned, but his answering service came on. She accordingly left a message, some of her good feeling ebbing away. She then talked briefly to her friends, Bess and George, both of whom were at George's and were on speakerphone. The girls listened to her brief outline of her case, exclaiming at times when Nancy described an exciting event. She held back on the more dangerous occurrences, but she knew the cousins would get it all out of her when they promised to get together in a few days. Nancy also refrained from saying too much about Frank Hardy, but somehow she suspected Bess knew there was more going on than she mentioned.

Finally, Nancy called home and talked with Hannah for a while. Hannah often expressed her dislike of Nancy's penchant for getting in trouble, but she was clearly full of pride for the girl detective. When Nancy climbed into bed a few minutes later, she felt an overwhelming sense of good fortune, especially now that she could see the glowing digits of the bedside clock with no blurriness at all. _I'll have to work on not taking so many things for granted,_ she told herself as she drifted off to sleep.

Nancy didn't see the Hardys again until the next morning, when they all boarded the bus heading to the airport. Joe gave a customary grumble about having to be up so early, to which Nancy only smiled.

"Where's Raya?" Frank asked, looking around.

"Oh, she and Alex decided to stay here another couple of days," Nancy told him, recalling what Raya had said to her earlier. "Apparently, Alex wasn't too keen on facing the hassle of traveling with his crutches again just yet, and Raya volunteered to keep him company while he recuperates."

Frank nodded, and they sat in a comfortable silence, each looking out the window as the lush Mexican landscape sped by. The airport was a little chaotic when they arrived, with Nancy learning her flight to Chicago was almost ready to board. Frank and Joe checked in as well, but their flight to New York wasn't for another couple of hours. However, they all went through security together, and then the guys accompanied Nancy to her gate. Nancy realized with a bit of dismay that the passengers were already heading out to the plane. She turned to Frank and Joe, her heart a little heavy.

They looked at one another for a long moment before Frank spoke. "It was very nice to work with you," Frank told her in a serious voice, extending his hand.

Nancy set her carry-on bag down and eyed his hand for a moment before stepping up to him to wrap her arms loosely around his chest. "You, too," she said, smiling up at him. His brown eyes sparkled, and then he straightened his posture and pulled away from her, almost reluctantly. She felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she deliberately ignored it, turning instead to Joe and enveloping him in an embrace as well.

Finally, she stepped back and hoisted her bag on her shoulder again. "Hopefully it won't be the last time we work together."

Joe flashed her a winsome grin. "You won't believe this, Nancy, but Frank actually told me—moments after we met you—that this might be the start of a long partnership."

Her spirits lifted as she directed her gaze toward the aforementioned person, who had the good grace to turn a little red. "I'd like that," Nancy said softly. As she spoke, the last of the passengers filed past the checkpoint, and the man at the desk waved Nancy over. She nodded, and started to move toward him, but not before she heard the younger brother murmur to the elder:

"What did I tell you earlier, Frank? We have to keep our enemies close, and our friends even closer."

**Note: Please see the Author page if you haven't already done so.**


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